i 


The  Viking's    Skull 


The  Viking's  Skull 


By 

John  R.  Carling 

Author  of  '•'•The  Shadow  of  the  Czar"  etc.,  etc. 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1904 


Copyright,  1903,  1904 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY, 


All  rights  reserved 
Published   March,    1904 


HUBLEY  PRINTING  CO.  L'T'D 

TYPESETTERS  AND  BLECTROTYPERS 
YORK,  PA.,  U.  S.  A. 

PRESSWORK  BY 
THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


Contents 


PROLOGUE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   "  THE  ENGLISH  LADY  " i 

II.   THE  RUNIC  RING 1 1 

III.  A  RETROSPECT 18 

IV.  TRAGEDY!   .  26 


THE  STORY 

I.   THE  RAVENGARS  OF  RAVENHALL     ....  44 

II.   THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  RELIQUARY  ....  57 

III.  IDRIS  REDIVIVUS 70 

IV.  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  RUNIC  RING    ....  82 
V.   "  THE     SHADOW     OF     THE     OFT-CARRIED 

THRONE" 92 

VI.   "  THE  FIRES  OF  THE  ASAS  !  " 106 

VII.   "  WITHIN  THE  LOFTY  TOMB  " 119 

VIII.   LORELIE  RIVIERE 132 

IX.   IDRIS  MEETS  A  RIVAL 150 

X.   A  LITTLE  PIECE  OF  STEEL 165 

XI.   THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  RUNIC  RING   .     .     .     .  178 

XII.    IDRIS  DECLARES  His  LOVE 197 

XIII.   AT  LORELIE'S  VILLA 209 

v 


7- 

t-^if-  - 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV.   TOLD  BY  THE  VASE 232 

XV.   A  PACKET  OF  OLD  LETTERS 245 

XVI.   LORELIE  AT  RAVENHALL 264 

XVII.   THE  SECRET  OF  THE  FUNERAL  CRYPT     .     .  277 

XVIII.   A  CRANIOLOGICAL  EXPERIMENT    ....  300 

XIX.   THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  SKULL    .     .     .     .  318 

XX.   FINALE 344 


VI 


List  of  Illustrations 


"  The  humming  sea,  as  if  bent  on  securing  its  victims, 

came  foaming  with  threatening  rapidity  "      .     .     Frontispiece 


"  A  dagger  flashed  from  beneath  his  cloak  "   .  Page  33 

"  A  cry  of  surprise,  rather  than  of  alarm,  broke  from 
him,  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  full-sized  human  skel 
eton  lying  within  "  ...........  "123 

"  '  By  the  sacred  ring  of  Odin,  stolen  by  you  from 
Edith  Breakspear,  I  adjure  you,  speak  !  Whose 
skull  is  this  ?  '"  ...........  "  336 


THE  VIKING'S  SKULL 


PROLOGUE 

CHAPTER  I 

"  THE  ENGLISH  LADY  " 

ON  one  of  the  granitic  peninsulas  of  Western 
Brittany  stands  the  little  town  of  Quilaix,  situ 
ated  in  a  hollow  facing  the  sea.  To  the  ordi 
nary  tourist  the  place  presents  few  features  of  interest  be 
yond  its  ivy-mantled  church,  whose  doors  bear  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  fishes  carved  in  oak  :  which 
fact,  when  added  to  the  name  of  the  edifice  —  La  Chapelle 
des  Pecheurs  —  serves  to  indicate  the  general  occupation 
of  the  inhabitants. 

For  the  convenience  of  the  fisher-folk  an  L-shaped 
stone  pier  has  been  raised  in  the  sea.  The  duty  of  watch 
ing  over  this  structure,  whose  stability  was  often  threat 
ened  by  the  fury  of  the  Atlantic,  pertained  to  Paul 
Marais,  familiarly  known  as  "  Old  Pol,"  who,  to  his  office 
of  harbour-master  added  likewise  that  of  collector  of  the 
customs. 

Paul  Marais  dwelt  in  the  street  called,  perhaps  by  way 
of  satire,  La  Grande.  His  house  was  a  quaint  mixture  of 
timber  and  stone,  with  dormer  lattices  set  in  the  red  tiles 
of  the  roof.  It  leaned  against  its  neighbour  for  support, 
with  every  doorway  and  window-frame  out  of  the  perpen 
dicular.  Yet  it  had  stood  firm  during  three  centuries,  and 
would  probably  continue  to  stand  during  as  many  more. 

One  chill  afternoon  in  March  Old  Pol  was  sauntering 
i  I 


The  Viking's  Skull 

to  and  fro  in  front  of  his  house,  thoughtfully  smoking  a 
pipe.  After  half  an  hour  spent  in  this  pleasant  idling  he 
suddenly  quickened  his  pace  and  entered  his  abode,  pass 
ing  to  the  parlour  with  its  red-tiled  sanded  floor,  where, 
around  the  bright  polished  cJiaufferette  sat  Madame 
Marais  and  three  or  four  old  dames,  all  busily  knitting, 
and  all  enjoying  those  pleasures  dear  to  the  heart  of 
every  Breton  woman,  to  wit,  cider  and  gossip. 

"  Celestine,"  said  Pol,  "  the  diligence  is  coming." 

"  Paul  Marais,"  replied  his  wife  with  tart  dignity,  "  don't 
be  a  fool." 

And  Pol,  expecting  no  other  answer,  whistled  softly 
and  withdrew. 

To  explain  madame's  reproof  it  is  necessary  to  state 
that  two  or  three  years  previously  a  gentleman  calling 
himself  a  count  had  visited  Quilaix,  and,  charmed  with 
the  old-world  air  of  the  place,  had  dwelt  in  Pol's  house  for 
the  space  of  six  months. 

The  handsome  profit  derived  by  Pol  on  this  occasion 
disposed  him  to  look  forward  to  the  coming  of  other  vis 
itors  :  but,  alas  !  Quilaix  is  too  obscure  to  be  mentioned 
in  the  ordinary  manuals  issued  for  the  guidance  of  tour 
ists.  The  count's  sojourn  was  an  exception  to  the  nor 
mal  course  of  events. 

Nevertheless  Pol  would  not  abandon  hope ;  and,  day 
by  day,  he  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  diligence,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  inviting  the  chance  stranger  to  his  own  dwelling, 
before  any  other  person  should  have  the  opportunity  of 
appropriating  him. 

"  Everything  comes  to  the  man  who  waits,"  muttered 
Pol  to  himself,  as  he  watched  the  distant  vehicle  swaying 
its  zigzag  course  down  the  hillside  road.  "  This  dili 
gence  is  perhaps  bringing  me  a  visitor.  Who  can  tell  ?  " 

Twilight  drew  on ;  and,  as  the  lamplighter  was  prepar 
ing  the  illumination  of  La  Rue  Grande  by  the  primitive 

2 


"The  English  Lady** 

method  of  fixing  an  oil-lantern  to  the  middle  of  a  rope 
slung  across  the  street,  the  diligence  came  up,  but  instead 
of  going  on  as  usual  to  the  auberge  in  the  little  market 
square,  the  driver  stopped  short  in  front  of  Pol's  house, 
and  there  alighted  a  young  lady  accompanied  by  a  little 
boy,  a  child  of  two  years. 

"  Madame  Marais  lives  here  ?  "  she  asked  with  an  in 
quiring  glance  at  Pol. 

"  My  wife's  name,"  replied  Pol.  He  pocketed  his  pipe, 
doffed  his  cap,  and  bowed  profoundly.  "  Permit  me  to 
lead  you  to  her.  —  By  the  saints,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  a  boarder  at  last,  or  may  I  lose  my  harbour-mastership. 
Now,  Celestine,  it  is  my  turn  to  laugh  at  you." 

The  young  lady,  holding  the  child  by  the  hand,  fol 
lowed  Pol  to  the  parlour. 

"  God  bless  you  all,  great  and  small,"  she  said,  using 
the  greeting  customary  in  that  part  of  Brittany. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  too,  stranger,  whoever  you  may 
be,"  replied  all,  as  they  rose  and  curtsied. 

This  intercourse  was  conducted  in  the  Breton  tongue, 
the  guttural  voices  of  Madame  Marais  and  her  compan 
ions  forming  a  marked  contrast  with  the  sweet  voice  of 
the  stranger. 

"  Can  one  have  apartments  here  ?  The  voiturier  has 
assured  me  that  one  can." 

Pol,  about  to  reply  with  an  eager  affirmative,  was 
checked  by  a  glance  from  his  more  cautious  spouse,  who 
was  not  disposed  to  give  herself  away  too  easily  or  too 
cheaply. 

"  It  is  not  our  custom  to  accommodate  visitors,"  she  re 
plied,  speaking  with  great  dignity.  "  At  least,  not  as  a 
rule.  But  still  with  a  little  trouble  we  might  arrange. 
How  many  rooms  does  madame  require.  Would  four 
be  — 

"  That  number  will  do.     Will  you  let  me  see  them  ?  " 

3 


The  Viking's  Skull 

After  a  brief  inspection  the  lady  expressed  her  ap 
proval,  being  especially  pleased  with  the  sitting-room,  an 
apartment  marked  by  a  charming  air  of  antiquity.  The 
oak  flooring  and  pannelling  were  black  with  age.  Within 
the  huge  fireplace  an  ox  could  have  been  roasted  whole. 
Over  the  carved  mantel  was  a  boar's  head,  a  trophy 
gained  by  Pol  in  a  hunting  expedition  among  the  Breton 
hills.  On  a  dark  oaken  press  an  ivory  crucifix,  browned 
by  time,  imparted  a  sort  of  solemnity  to  the  place. 

Terms  were  arranged ;  and  the  lady's  luggage  was 
brought  in  and  deposited  up-stairs  by  the  strong  arm  of 
Pol  himself. 

"  How  long  is  madame  likely  to  remain  here  ?  "  asked 
the  harbour-master's  wife,  lingering  with  her  hand  on  the 
handle  of  the  sitting-room  door. 

"  Months.  Years,  perhaps,"  replied  the  stranger  with 
a  sad  smile.  "  That  is,"  she  went  on,  "  if  you  are  willing 
to  let  me  stay  so  long." 

"  And  madame's  name  is ?  " 

"  Edith  Breakspear." 

"  Breakspear  ?  Then  madame  is  not  French  ? "  ex 
claimed  the  harbour-master's  wife,  wondering  to  what 
nationality  she  should  ascribe  the  name. 

"  No,  I  am  English,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  faint  touch 
of  pride  in  her  voice. 

"  Madame  speaks  the  Breton  like  an  angel." 

"  I  have  lived  a  long  time  in  Brittany." 

"  Ah !  madame  loves  Brittany,"  said  the  other,  who 
like  all  Bretons  was  intensely  patriotic.  "  The  climate  re 
minds  her  of  her  own  land.  We  Bretons  came  from  Eng 
land.  Centuries  ago.  And  when  we  came  we  brought 
the  weather  with  us.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

And  with  these  words  she  smiled  herself  out  of  the 
room,  and  went  down-stairs  to  discuss  the  event  with  her 
cronies. 


"The  English  Lady" 

"  She  is  going  to  pay  me  four  Napoleons  a  week. 
Think  of  that  now  !  It  is  more  than  the  count  ever  gave. 
Ah,  del!  but  if  I  had  been  wearing  my  best  Sunday  cap 
with  its  point  lace  and  gold  embroidery  I  could  have 
asked  double.  But  how  could  one  ask  more  with  only  a 
plain  white  cap  on,  and  a  necklace  of  blue  beads  ?  " 

As  may  be  guessed,  the  coming  of  a  stranger  into  the 
little  world  of  Quilaix  set  the  tongues  of  all  the  gossips 
wagging.  The  men  were  as  much  interested  as  the 
women,  and  various  were  the  surmises  of  the  nightly 
frequenters  of  the  Auberge  des  Pecheurs  as  to  her  previous 
history.  But  of  this  they  could  learn  nothing.  Mrs. 
Breakspear  let  fall  no  word  as  to  her  past,  and  even 
Madame  Marais'  keen  eyes  failed  to  penetrate  the  veil  of 
mystery  that  undoubtedly  hung  around  "  The  English 
lady." 

Mrs.  Breakspear  had  not  seen  more  than  twenty-one 
summers ;  she  was  in  truth  so  girlish  in  appearance  that 
the  people  of  Quilaix  could  scarcely  bring  their  lips  to  use 
the  matronly  "  Madame,"  but  more  frequently  addressed 
her  as  "  Mademoiselle."  It  was  clear  that  some  secret 
sorrow  was  casting  its  shadow  over  her  young  life.  Her 
pale  face  and  subdued  air,  the  sad  expression  in  her  eyes, 
were  the  visible  tokens  of  a  grief,  too  strong  to  be  re 
pressed  or  forgotten. 

As  she  was  always  dressed  in  black  the  gossips  con 
cluded  that  she  was  in  mourning,  the  general  opinion 
being  that  she  had  recently  lost  her  husband,  though  a 
few  ill-natured  persons  sneered  at  the  word  "  husband,"  in 
spite  of  her  gold  wedding-ring. 

Mrs.  Breakspear  made  no  attempt  to  form  friendships. 
Firmly,  yet  without  hauteur,  she  repelled  all  advances, 
from  whatever  quarter  they  came.  She  seemed  to  desire 
no  other  companionship  than  that  of  her  child,  Idris. 
He  was  evidently  the  one  being  that  reconciled  her  to  life. 

5 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Thus  passed  five  years :  and  Mrs.  Breakspear,  though 
still  as  great  a  mystery  as  ever  to  the  people  of  Quilaix, 
ceased  to  occupy  the  chief  place  in  their  gossip. 

Idris  was  now  seven  years  old,  a  handsome  little  fellow, 
endowed  with  an  intelligence  beyond  his  years. 

His  education  was  undertaken  solely  by  his  mother, 
concerning  whom  the  opinion  went,  that,  in  the  matter  of 
learning,  she  was  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  Monsieur  le 
Cure,  the  only  other  person  in  the  place  with  any  pre 
tensions  to  scholarship. 

At  the  back  of  Quilaix  rises  the  moorland,  an  extensive 
wind-swept  region,  blossoming  in  early  summer  with  the 
beautiful  broom  that  furnished  our  first  Plantagenet  with 
his  crest  and  surname.  Over  this  brown,  purple-dotted 
expanse  run  two  white  lines  intersecting  each  other  in  the 
shape  of  the  letter  X.  These  lines  indicate  the  only  two 
roads  over  the  moor;  and,  just  at  the  point  of  inter 
section,  there  stands  an  irregular  block  of  grey  stone 
buildings. 

The  part  of  the  moorland  immediately  above  the  town 
was  the  usual  place  of  study,  that  is,  whenever  the  day 
was  warm  and  sunny.  Then,  mother  and  son  would 
climb  to  some  high  point,  and  seat  themselves  on  the 
grass ;  and  while  the  boy,  with  the  breeze  of  heaven  lift 
ing  the  curls  from  his  temples,  would  endeavour  to  fix 
his  eyes  on  his  books,  Mrs.  Breakspear  would  fix  hers 
on  the  grey  stone  building.  Nothing  else  on  land  or  sea 
seemed  to  have  any  interest  for  her.  The  distant  and 
beautiful  hills  would  often  change  their  colour  from  grey 
to  violet  beneath  the  alternation  of  sunshine  and  cloud : 
ships  with  their  fair  sails  set  would  glide  daily  from  the 
haven  of  Quilaix ;  bands  of  Catholic  pilgrims,  bound  for 
some  local  shrine,  would  occasionally  cross  the  moor 
land,  carrying  banners  and  singing  hymns :  sea-gulls 
would  wheel  their  screaming  flight  aloft :  trout  leap  and 

6 


"The  English  Lady'* 

gleam  in  the  brook  at  her  feet.  But  Mrs.  Breakspear  had 
eyes  for  none  of  these  things.  Her  attention,  when  not 
given  to  Idris  and  his  book,  was  set  upon  the  lone,  dun 
edifice. 

On  certain  days  human  figures,  dwarfed  by  the  dis 
tance,  would  issue  from  the  building,  spreading  themselves 
in  little  groups  over  the  landscape ;  and,  after  remaining 
out  some  hours,  would  return  upon  the  firing  of  a  gun. 
At  such  times  Mrs.  Breakspear  would  clasp  her  hands  and 
gaze  wistfully  on  the  distant  moving  figures. 

One  day  her  emotion  was  too  great  to  escape  the  boy's 
notice :  and,  following  the  direction  of  her  eyes,  he  said, 
speaking  in  English,  the  language  used  by  them  when 
alone : — 

"  Mother,  what  are  those  men  doing  ?  " 

"  They  are  quarrying  stone." 

"What  for?" 

"  Well,  to  make  churches  with,  for  one  thing,"  replied 
the  mother,  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  What !  churches  like  that  ?  " 

And  Idris  pointed  to  the  Cliapelle  des  Pecheurs,  which 
glowed  in  the  setting  sunlight  like  sculptured  bronze. 

"  Yes  :  they  quarry  the  stone  and  shape  it  into  blocks, 
which  are  then  sent  to  Nantes,  or  Paris,  or  wherever 
wanted,  and  fitted  together." 

Idris  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  turning  the  infor 
mation  over  in  his  mind. 

"  They  must  be  good  men  to  make  churches,"  he 
presently  remarked. 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  are  bad  men." 

Idris  was  puzzled  at  this,  being  evidently  of  opinion 
that  the  character  of  the  work  sanctified  the  workers. 

"  Then  why  do  they  cut  stone  for  churches  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  made  to  do  so  by  other  men  who 
watch  to  see  that  the  work  is  done." 

7 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Idris  becoming  more  puzzled  at  this  compulsory  state 
of  labour,  returned  to  the  moral  character  of  the  workers. 

"  Are  they  all  bad  —  every  one  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  all,"  exclaimed  his  mother,  with  an  energy 
that  quite  surprised  the  little  fellow.  "  There  is  one  there 
who  is  the  best,  the  truest,  the  noblest  of  men." 

Her  eyes  sparkled,  and  a  beautiful  colour  burned  on 
her  cheek.  She  sat  with  a  proud  air  as  if  defying  the 
world  to  say  the  contrary. 

"  Is  he  as  good  as  father  was  ?  " 

"  About  the  same,"  replied  Mrs.  Breakspear,  her  features 
softening  into  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  have  said  that  no  one  was  ever  so  good  as 
father." 

"  Have  I  ?  Well,  this  man  is.  There  is  no  difference 
between  them." 

"  If  he  is  so  good,  why  has  he  to  work  among  all  those 
bad  men  ?  " 

"  Some  day,  child,  you  shall  know,"  replied  his  mother, 
folding  him  within  her  arms.  "  Don't  ask  any  more 
questions,  Idie." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  run  away  ? "  persisted  the  little 
fellow. 

"  Because  soldiers  are  there,  who  would  shoot  him  down 
if  he  tried  to  escape,"  said  Mrs.  Breakspear  with  a  shud 
der.  "  Come,  let  us  be  going.  It  is  growing  cold.  See 
how  the  mist  is  rising  !  " 

The  boom  of  a  distant  gun  was  rolling  faintly  over  the 
moorland.  A  fog  creeping  up  from  the  sea  curtained  the 
prison  from  view  as  they  turned  to  descend  the  slope  that 
led  to  Quilaix. 

It  was  market-day.  Buying  and  selling  had  now  come 
to  an  end,  but  many  persons  still  lingered  in  the  square, 
chiefly  natives  from  remote  districts.  "  Robinson  Cru- 
soes,"  Idris  called  them,  nor  was  the  name  inappropriate. 

8 


"The  English  Lady'' 

Clad  in  garments  of  goatskin  with  the  hairy  side  turned 
outwards,  and  with  long  tresses  hanging  like  manes  from 
beneath  their  broad-brimmed  hats,  they  might  have  been 
taken  for  wild  men  of  the  woods :  a  wildness  that  was  in 
appearance  only,  for  no  one  is  more  tender-hearted  than 
the  Breton  peasant. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement  among  them,  and  it 
could  be  seen  that  they  were  forming  a  circle  around  a 
man  who  had  just  made  his  appearance.  The  maidens, 
who  were  beating  and  washing  clothes  in  the  stream  that 
flowed  along  one  side  of  the  square,  ceased  their  work 
and  came  running  up  to  the  circle,  their  wooden  sabots 
sounding  upon  the  stone  pavement. 

The  cause  of  all  this  commotion  was  a  man  belonging 
to  a  class,  formerly  more  common  in  Brittany  than  now 
adays,  the  class  called  Kloers  or  itinerant  minstrels,  who 
recite  verses  of  their  own  composing  upon  any  topic  that 
happens  to  be  uppermost  in  the  public  mind,  accompany 
ing  their  rude  improvisation  upon  the  three-stringed 
rebec. 

"  It  is  Andre  the  Kloer,"  cried  Idris  gleefully,  who  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  minstrel.  "  Let  us  listen.  He 
will  tell  us  some  fine  stories." 

The  Kloer  having  glanced  towards  the  ground  at  his 
hat,  which  contained  several  sous,  said :  — 

"  For  your  help,  friends,  many  thanks.  I  will  now  re 
cite  '  The  Ballad  of  the  Ring,'  a  ballad  dealing  with  a 
murder  that  happened  some  years  ago  at  Nantes." 

The  minstrel  spoke  in  the  language  of  the  province,  a 
language  which  Idris  understood  as  well  as  any  Breton 
boy  of  his  own  age.  The  word  "  murder  "  gave  promise 
of  something  exciting.  He  glanced  up  at  his  mother, 
supposing  that  she,  too,  would  be  equally  interested  in 
the  coming  story :  but,  to  his  surprise,  he  saw  that  her 
face  had  become  whiter  than  usual  —  that  it  wore  a 

9 


The  Viking's  Skull 

strange  look,  a  look  of  fear,  a  look  he  had  never  before 
seen.  The  hand  that  held  his  own  was  trembling,  and, 
in  a  voice  so  changed  from  its  ordinary  tone  as  to  be 
scarcely  recognizable,  she  said  :  — 

"  Home,  Idie,  let  us  go  home." 

Suddenly  the  Kloer  paused  in  the  midst  of  his  speak 
ing.  A  tender  expression  came  over  his  face  ;  a  gentle 
light  shone  from  his  eyes,  and  with  hand  solemnly  up 
lifted,  he  said :  — 

"  Christian  brethren,  ere  we  go  further  let  us  all  say  a 
Pater  and  a  De  Profundis  for  the  assassin  as  well  as  for 
his  victim." 

In  a  moment  his  hearers  with  spontaneous  and  genuine 
piety  were  kneeling  upon  the  pavement,  their  heads 
bowed,  their  hats  doffed,  while  the  Kloer,  after  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  began  to  say  the  prayers. 

As  Idris  and  his  mother  alone  remained  standing  the 
attention  of  the  minstrel  \vas  naturally  drawn  to  them. 
No  sooner  did  his  eyes  fall  upon  Mrs.  Breakspear  than  a 
change  came  over  him.  His  look  of  solemnity  was  suc 
ceeded  by  one  of  wonderment,  and  after  stammering  out 
a  few  broken  phrases,  which,  though  intended  as  pious 
petitions  to  Heaven,  conveyed  scarcely  any  meaning  to 
his  hearers,  he  brought  his  prayer  to  an  abrupt  conclusion. 

"  Good  folk,"  he  cried,  "  I  will  not  give  you  '  The  Bal 
lad  of  the  Ring'  It  is  too  mournful.  It  would  sadden 
the  hearts  of  some  who  are  present." 

Mrs.  Breakspear  tightened  her  grasp  on  the  wrist  of 
Idris,  and,  much  to  his  grief,  drew  him  away  from  the 
presence  of  the  Kloer,  and  hurried  him  onward  to  Pol's 
house. 


10 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    RUNIC    RING 

THAT  same  evening  Idris  lay  reading  on  the 
hearth-rug  before  a  bright  fire.     Since  their  re 
turn  from  the  moorland  he  had  found  his  mother 
unusually  quiet,  and  he  had  therefore  turned  for  com 
panionship   to   his    favourite  book,  "  T/ie  Life  of  King 
Alfred"     Having  reared  the  volume  against  a  footstool 
he  rested  his  elbows  upon  the  floor,  and  his  chin  upon 
his  hands,  and  in  this  attitude  was  soon  absorbed  in  the 
doings  of  the  Saxon  hero. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  and  addressed  his  mother,  who 
was  sitting  in  an  armchair  watching  him. 

"  Mother,  what  are  runes  ?  " 

What  was  there  in  this  simple  question  to  startle  Mrs. 
Breakspear,  for  startled  she  certainly  was  ? 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  know  ?  Who  has  been  talking 
to  you  about  runes  ?  " 

"  This  book  says  that  the  Vikings  used  to  carve  runes 
on  the  prows  of  their  galleys.  What  are  runes  ?  " 

The  mother's  face  lost  its  look  of  alarm,  yet  it  was 
with  some  hesitancy  that  she  replied,  "  They  were  letters 
used  in  olden  times  by  the  nations  of  the  north." 

"  But  how  could  letters  carved  on  the  prow  protect 
the  vessel  ?  " 

What  a  pair  of  earnest  dark  eyes  were  those  fixed  that 
moment  upon  the  mother's  face  ! 

"  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  couldn't.  But  men 
fancied  that  they  could.  They  were  very  superstitious  in 
those  days." 

ii 


The  Viking's  Skull 

As  Idris  showed  a  desire  for  further  knowledge,  his 
mother  continued :  —  "  The  old  Norsemen  believed  that 
these  letters  when  pronounced  in  a  certain  order  would 
have  a  magical  effect.  Some  runes  would  stop  the  course 
of  the  wind :  others  would  cause  an  enemy's  sword  to 
break.  Some  would  make  the  captive's  chains  fall  off: 
and  others  again  would  cause  the  dead  to  come  forth 
from  the  tomb  and  speak.  But  you  know,  dear  Idie,  all 
this  is  not  true.  The  runic  letters  have  no  such  power. 
But  the  old  Norse  people  believed  so  much  in  the  virtue 
of  these  characters  that  they  engraved  them  on  the  walls 
of  their  dwellings,  on  their  armour,  on  their  ships,  on 
anything,  in  fact,  which  they  wished  to  protect." 

"  Were  these  letters  like  ours  in  shape  ?  " 

"  Very  different.  You  would  like  to  see  some  Norse 
runes  ?  " 

Mrs.  Breakspear  rose,  and  going  to  an  oak  press  pro 
duced  a  small  ebony  casket,  whose  exterior  was  decorated 
with  miniature  carvings  of  Norse  warriors  engaged  in 
combat. 

Seating  herself  upon  the  hearth-rug  beside  the  little 
fellow  she  unlocked  the  casket  and  lifted  the  lid.  Within, 
upon  the  blue  satin  lining,  there  lay  a  silver  ring,  meas 
uring  about  eight  inches  in  circumference,  and  obviously 
of  antique  workmanship. 

"This,"  said  Mrs.  Breakspear,  "  is  a  very  old  runic  ring." 

"  How  old  ?  " 

"  More  than  two  thousand  years  old.  Tradition  says 
that  it  was  made  by  Odin  himself.  Do  you  know  who 
he  was,  Idie  ?  " 

"  The  book  calls  him  an  imaginary  deity.  What  does 
that  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  a  god  who  never  lived." 

"  Then  how  can  the  ring  have  been  made  by  Odin  if 
there  never  was  an  Odin  ?  " 

13 


The  Runic  Ring 

"  Odin,  the  god,  is,  of  course,  a  fable ;  but  Odin,  the 
man,  may  have  had  a  real  existence.  He  was,  so  the 
wise  tell  us,  a  warrior,  priest,  and  king  of  the  North,  who 
after  death  was  worshipped  as  a  deity.  The  legend  states 
that,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  die,  Odin  gave  to  him 
self  nine  wounds  in  the  form  of  a  circle,  guiding  the  point 
of  his  spear  by  this  ring,  which  was  laid  on  his  breast  for 
that  purpose.  The  ring  thus  became  sacred  in  the  eyes 
of  his  children  and  descendants  :  and  they  showed  their 
reverence  for  it  by  using  it  as  an  altar-ring  in  their  relig 
ious  ceremonies.  Guthrum,  the  famous  Danish  warrior, 
was  of  Odin's  race,  and  this  is  said  to  have  been  the  iden 
tical  holy  ring,  celebrated  in  history,  upon  which  he  and 
his  Vikings  swore  to  quit  the  kingdom  of  Alfred." 

Idris  listened  with  breathless  interest.  Guthrum ! 
Alfred  !  Odin  !  To  think  that  his  mother  should  pos 
sess  a  ring  that  had  once  belonged  to  these  exalted  char 
acters  !  It  was  wonderful !  If  the  relic  were  gifted  with 
memory  and  speech  what  an  interesting  story  it  might 
unfold ! 

He  turned  the  ring  over  in  his  hands.  How  massive 
it  was  !  None  of  your  modern,  hollow  bangles,  but  solid 
and  weighty.  The  ancient  silversmith  had  not  been 
sparing  of  the  metal. 

"  Oh,  couldn't  we  make  a  lot  of  franc-pieces  out  of  it ! " 
cried  Idris. 

The  outer  perimeter  of  the  ring  was  enamelled  with 
purple,  and  decorated  with  a  four-line  inscription  of  tiny 
runic  letters  in  gold,  so  clear  and  distinct  in  outline,  that 
a  runologist  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  reading 
them ;  though  whether  the  characters,  when  read,  would 
have  yielded  any  meaning,  is  a  different  matter. 

"  Are  these  the  runes?  "  asked  Idris,  pointing  to  them. 
"  What  funny  looking  things !  Here  is  one  like  an 
arrow,  and  here  it  is  again,  and  again.  Why,  some  of 

13 


The  Viking's  Skull 

them  are  like  our  letters.  Here  is  one  like  a  B,  and  here 
is  an  R,  and  an  X.  What  does  all  this  writing  mean, 
mother  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  ever  yet  been  able  to  interpret  it.  When 
you  are  older,  Idie,  you  shall  study  runes,  and  then  per 
haps  you  will  be  able  to  explain  the  meaning." 

Idris  knitted  his  little  brows  over  the  inscription  as  if 
desirous  of  solving  the  enigma  there  and  then,  without 
waiting  till  manhood's  days. 

"  Did  Odin  engrave  these  letters  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  may  have  done  so.  He  is  said  to  have  been  the 
inventor  of  runes,  you  know." 

As  Idris  turned  the  ring  around  in  his  hand  his  eye 
became  attracted  by  a  broad,  black  stain  on  the  inner 
perimeter. 

"  What  is  this  dark  mark  ?  " 

His  mother  hesitated  ere  replying  :  — 

"  It  is  perhaps  a  blood-stain." 

"  Why  isn't  it  red  like  blood  ?  " 

"  A  blood-stain  soon  turns  black.  I  have  said  that 
this  was  an  altar-ring.  Let  me  tell  you  what  is  meant  by 
that.  You  know  if  you  go  into  La  Chapelle  des.Pecheurs 
you  will  see  upon  the  altar  a  —  what,  Idie  ?  " 

"  A  crucifix,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Well,  if  you  had  gone  into  any  temple  of  the  North 
men  —  and  their  temples  were  often  nothing  more  than  a 
circle  of  tall  stones  in  the  depth  of  a  forest  —  you  would 
have  seen  on  their  altar  a  large  silver  ring.  And  just  as 
Catholics  nowadays  kiss  a  crucifix  and  swear  to  speak  the 
truth,  so  in  old  Norse  times  men  employed  a  ring  for  the 
same  purpose.  Before  they  took  the  oath  the  ring  was 
dipped  in  the  blood  of  the  sacrifice.  Then  if  a  man 
broke  his  word  it  was  believed  that  the  god  to  whom 
the  sacrifice  had  been  offered  would  most  surely  punish 
him." 


The  Runic  Ring 

The  book  that  Idris  had  been  reading  contained  an  ac 
count  of  the  Norse  mode  of  sacrificing :  and  so  with  his 
eye  still  on  the  dark  stain,  he  said  :  — 

"  Mother,  didn't  the  old  Norsemen  sometimes  offer  up 
men  on  their  altars  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  they  did." 

"  Then  this  stain  may  be  a  man's  blood  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  likely." 

"  Perhaps  the  very  blood  of  Odin,  made  when  he  gave 
himself  the  nine  wounds,"  said  Idris,  in  a  tone  of  glee, 
and  fascinated  by  the  ring,  as  children  often  are  fasci 
nated  by  things  gruesome.  "  What  a  long  time  the  stain 
has  lasted !  But  it  can't  be  Odin's  blood,"  he  continued, 
with  an  air  of  mournfulness :  "  the  stain  would  have 
worn  off  long  ago.  —  I  would  like  to  know  whose  blood 
it  is  !  " 

"  Hush  !  Hush  !  We  do  not  yet  know  that  it  is 
human  blood.  Come,  you  must  not  talk  any  more 
about  such  dreadful  things." 

And  sensible  that  the  conversation  had  taken  a  turn 
not  at  all  suited  to  a  tender  mind,  Mrs.  Breakspear  tried 
to  divert  his  thoughts.  Putting  away  the  altar-ring,  she 
seated  herself  beside  him,  and  drawing  him  partly  within 
her  embrace,  she  said,  "  Now  what  shall  I  talk  about  ?  " 
—  which  was  her  usual  preface  when  beginning  his  in 
struction  in  history,  geography,  and  the  like. 

"  Tell  me  about  Vikings  —  all  about  them,"  he  replied 
with  the  air  of  one  capable  of  taking  in  the  whole  cycle 
of  Scandinavian  lore. 

As  Mrs.  Breakspear  had  made  a  study  of  Northern 
history,  she  was  able  to  gratify  her  little  son's  request  by 
regaling  him  with  a  variety  of  tales  drawn  from  Icelandic 
sagas  and  early  Saxon  chronicles.  For  more  than  two 
hours  Idris  sat  entranced,  listening  to  the  doings,  good 
and  bad,  of  the  famous  sea-kings  of  old. 

IS 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  I  wish,"  he  cried,  when  his  mother  had  finished  her 
stories  for  the  night,  "  I  wish  /  were  a  Viking,  like  Mr. 
Rollo  and  Mr.  Eric  the  Red.  It  would  be  fine." 

For  several  days  Idris  would  listen  to  no  history  that 
did  not  relate  to  Vikings.  He  took  likewise  to  drawing 
Norse  galleys  from  his  mother's  description  of  them, 
giving  to  every  vessel  the  orthodox  raven-standard, 
dragon-prow,  and  a  row  of  shields  hung  all  around  above 
the  water-line.  And  he  somewhat  startled  the  good 
Cure  of  Quilaix,  who  had  made  a  morning-call  upon 
Mrs.  Breakspear :  for  when  told  to  hand  the  reverend 
gentleman  a  glass  of  wine,  he  held  the  drink  aloft  with 
the  cry  of"  Skoal  to  the  Northland,  skoal !  "  adding  im 
mediately  afterwards,  "  Runes  !  runes  !  I  wish  some  one 
would  teach  me  how  to  read  runes.  Won't  you,  mon 
sieur  ?  " 

Runes !  Monsieur  le  Cure  had  had  a  reputation  for 
scholarship  once  upon  a  time  :  but  thirty  years  inces 
santly  spent  in  doing  good  among  the  people  of  his 
parish  had  left  him  so  little  time  for  study  that  he  could 
now  read  his  Greek  Testament  only  by  the  aid  of  the 
French  translation. 

"  And  why  do  you  wish  to  learn  runes,  my  little 
man  ?  "  he  said,  patting  the  boy  on  the  head. 

"  Because  —  because "  began  Idris  ;  but,  observ 
ing  that  his  mother  was  pressing  her  finger  upon  her  lip 
as  a  sign  for  him  to  be  silent,  he  stopped  short,  and  Mrs. 
Breakspear  adroitly  turned  the  conversation  to  other  mat 
ters.  After  the  departure  of  the  Cure,  she  said  :  — 

"  Idie,  you  must  never  let  any  one  know  that  we  have 
that  runic  ring  in  our  possession." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Because  there  are  men  who  desire  to  lay  their  hands 
upon  it,  and  if  they  learn  that  it  is  in  this  house  they 
may  try  to  steal  it ;  nay,  will  perhaps  kill  us  in  order  to 

16 


The  Runic  Ring 

obtain  it.  The  ring  has  been  the  cause  of  one  murder, 
and  if  you  speak  of  it  out  of  doors  it  may  be  the  cause 
of  another.  Remember,  then,  you  must  not  mention  the 
ring  to  any  one.  Remember,  remember ! " 


CHAPTER  III 

A  RETROSPECT 

IDRIS  slept  in  a  room  the  window  of  which,  being  a 
dormer  one,  overlooked  the  roofs  of  the  other 
houses,  and  gave  him  an  interrupted  view  of  the 
sea. 

One  morning,  as  soon  as  he  had  drawn  the  curtain, 
he  came  running  to  his  mother's  room  with  the  news  :  — 

"  Oh,  mother,  come  and  look.  There's  a  pretty  little 
ship  in  the  bay." 

So,  to  please  him,  Mrs.  Breakspear  stepped  from  her 
lit  clos,  or  cupboard  bed,  and  stole,  even  as  she  was,  in 
her  night-robe,  to  take  a  view  of  the  vessel. 

"  See,  there  it  is,"  cried  Idris,  excitedly  pointing  it  out. 
"  Is  it  a  Viking  ship,  mother  ?  " 

"  There  are  no  Vikings  nowadays,"  was  the  reply,  a 
reply  which  Idris  took  as  a  proof  of  the  degeneracy  of 
the  times.  "  It  is  a  yacht." 

As  this  term  conveyed  no  more  enlightenment  to  Idris' 
mind  than  if  she  had  said  that  it  was  a  quinquereme,  he 
naturally  asked,  "  What  is  a  yacht  ?  " 

The  explanation  was  deferred  till  breakfast-time,  when 
his  mother  entered  into  the  meaning  of  the  term.  Idris 
made  a  somewhat  hasty  meal,  being  eager  to  run  off  to 
the  quay  for  the  purpose  of  taking  a  nearer  view  of  the 
newly-arrived  vessel. 

Dancing  down  the  stairs  of  the  old  house  into  the 
street  he  made  for  the  end  of  the  stone  pier,  and  sitting 
down  at  the  head  of  the  steps  he  took  a  long  survey 
of  the  yacht,  wondering  whether  it  equalled  in  point 

18 


A  Retrospect 

of  swiftness  and  beauty  the  famous  Long  Serpent  of  Olaf, 
built  by  that  master-shipwright,  Thorberg. 

A  boat  was  rapidly  making  its  way  from  the  vessel  to 
the  harbour.  Idris  recognized  it  as  the  revenue-cutter, 
at  the  tiller  of  which  sat  Old  Pol  himself. 

"  Ha !  Master  Idris,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  had 
mounted  the  stairs,  "  what  a  pity  you  were  not  out  an 
hour  earlier !  You  could  then  have  gone  with  us  to  yon 
vessel."  And  then,  turning  to  those  who  had  accom 
panied  him,  he  remarked :  "  So  Captain  Rochefort  is  the 
owner  of  that  yacht.  Well,  everybody  has  heard  of 
him :  one  of  the  bravest  in  the  Emperor's  service,  and 
an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honour.  Nothing  wrong 
with  that  craft,  eh,  Baptiste  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  "  growled  the  man  addressed,  a  grizzled  old 
coastguard  with  a  saturnine  cast  of  countenance.  "  So 
they  have  put  Captain  Rochefort  ashore  at  Port  St. 
Reme,  and  he  is  coming  on  foot  to  Quilaix.  But  if  the 
Captain  wants  to  visit  Quilaix,  why  does  he  not  come 
with  the  yacht,  instead  of  walking  over  the  moorland  ?  " 

"  Why,  Baptiste,  you  talk  like  one  who  is  suspicious," 
remarked  Pol  in  surprise. 

"  And  I  am  suspicious.  There's  something  wrong  in 
the  wind.  Harbour-master,  listen  to  me.  As  every 
body  in  Quilaix  is  going  to  the  Pardon  to-day  the  town 
will  be  deserted  until  a  late  hour.  The  night  will  be 
dark,  as  this  is  the  time  of  no  moon.  Captain  Rochefort 
has  been  put  ashore  in  order  to  signal  the  favourable 
moment.  They  are  going  to  run  a  cargo." 

This  statement  was  received  by  Pol  with  a  burst  of 
laughter. 

"  Baptiste,  you  talk  like  a  fool.  What  cargo  can  such 
a  small  craft  carry  ?  Besides,  they  have  no  cargo.  Did 
we  not  overhaul  her  thoroughly  ?  Captain  Rochefort  a 
contrabandist !  A  military  officer  hazard  his  reputation 

19 


The  Viking's  Skull 

in  a  smuggling  venture  !  Impossible  !  He  would  have 
everything  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain  by  such  a 
course." 

Baptiste,  by  a  shake  of  his  head,  implied  that  he  was 
not  to  be  moved  from  his  opinion. 

"  Very  well,  Baptiste,  since  you  are  so  suspicious,  we 
had  better  put  you  on  the  watch  for  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours." 

"  I  intend  to  watch,  whether  put  on  or  not.  And  by 
the  key  of  Saint  Tugean  I  shall  have  discovered  some 
thing  before  to-morrow  morning  comes." 

"  Undoubtedly.  You  will  discover  that  you  would 
have  acted  more  wisely  by  going  with  us  to  the  Pardon 
to-day.  That's  the  ticket  for  me.  Life  is  sad :  then  let  us 
not  miss  any  of  its  gaieties.  And  in  all  Finistere  there 
are  no  pancakes  and  cider  like  those  of  St.  Reme." 

The  rest  of  the  coastguard,  murmuring  their  approval 
of  these  sentiments,  dispersed  in  order  to  prepare  for  the 
Pardon,  or  church-festival,  to  be  held  that  day  in  a  dis 
tant  village ;  of  which  festival  the  harbour-master's  wife 
had,  on  the  previous  evening,  drawn  so  pleasant  a  fore 
cast  in  the  hearing  of  Idris,  that  the  little  fellow  had  felt 
great  disappointment  on  learning  that  his  mother  in 
tended  to  take  no  part  in  the  celebration. 

Madame  Marais  had  been  somewhat  troubled  by  the 
question  as  to  how  her  tenant's  meals  were  to  be  pre 
pared  during  her  absence,  but  Mrs.  Breakspear  had 
solved  this  difficulty  by  offering  to  arrange  for  herself. 

Meantime  Idris,  still  at  the  head  of  the  pier-steps,  con 
tinued  his  survey  of  the  vessel. 

A  piece  of  canvas  hanging  over  the  taffrail  was 
suddenly  drawn  up  by  a  sailor  on  board,  an  act  that  en 
abled  Idris  to  see  the  name  of  the  yacht  painted  in  big 
black  letters. 

N-E-M-E-S-I-S. 

20 


A  Retrospect 

Nemesis!  This  was  a  word  new  to  him.  He  had 
known  sailors  call  their  boats  Marie,  Isabelle,  Jeanne, 
and  the  like,  with  various  epithets  prefixed,  as  jolie,  belle, 
and  petite,  but  never  Nemesis.  He  could  not  tell 
whether  it  was  the  name  of  man  or  woman :  so,  on  re 
turning  home,  he  sought  enlightenment  of  his  mother. 

"  It's  a  curious  name  to  give  to  a  ship,"  commented 
the  little  fellow  thoughtfully,  after  Mrs.  Breakspear  had 
tried  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  term.  "  Why  do 
they  call  it  that  ?  Are  they  going  to  take  vengeance  on 
somebody  ?  " 

Shortly  afterwards  Madame  Marais  came  out  of  her 
house,  wearing  the  wonderful  lace  cap  that  had  de 
scended  to  her  through  several  generations.  Leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  Old  Pol,  who  was  likewise  gorgeously 
arrayed,  she  moved  off  in  great  state  to  take  her  place 
in  the  line  of  the  procession  which,  under  the  direction 
of  Monsieur  le  Cure,  was  slowly  forming  before  the 
porch  of  La  Chapelle  des  Pccheurs. 

When  all  preliminaries  had  been  satisfactorily  com 
pleted,  the  simple-hearted  peasants,  with  flags  flying  and 
pipes  playing,  set  off  on  their  pilgrimage,  walking  at  a 
somewhat  leisurely  pace,  for  your  true  Breton  is  seldom 
in  a  hurry. 

Idris,  regretting  that  he  could  not  accompany  them, 
clambered  to  an  eminence  on  the  moorland,  where,  aided 
by  his  mother's  opera-glasses,  he  watched  the  course  of 
the  procession  till  it  faded  from  view. 

Nearly  everybody  in  Quilaix  had  gone  off  to  this 
Pardon.  All  the  shops  were  closed,  and  the  town  was 
as  silent  as  on  a  Sunday  morning  during  the  time  of 
high  mass.  A  few  of  the  fishermen  and  of  the  coast 
guard  had  indeed  remained  behind,  but  these  were 
slumbering  in  the  shadow  of  the  sardine-boats  drawn 
high  up  on  the  beach.  From  these  slumberers  must  be 

21 


The  Viking's  Skull 

excepted  old  Baptiste  Malet,  who  throughout  the  day 
glided  to  and  fro  along  the  shore,  now  and  then  dropping 
behind  a  rock  to  take  a  scrutiny  of  the  yacht  by  the  aid 
of  a  telescope  nearly  as  long  as  himself. 

The  Nemesis  still  remained  at  the  point  where  the 
anchor  had  first  been  cast.  She  was  certainly  a  mysteri 
ous  vessel ;  none  of  her  occupants  had  come  ashore : 
none  could  be  seen  on  deck.  It  was  quite  clear  that  for 
some  reason  or  other  the  crew  shrank  from  the  observa 
tion  of  those  on  land. 

A  gala-day  it  may  have  been  for  others,  but  for  Idris 
it  proved  a  somewhat  dull  time.  His  mother  seemed  too 
much  preoccupied  to  set  him  his  regular  lessons :  or  per 
haps  she  did  not  deem  it  fair  to  put  him  to  study  while 
others  were  festively  engaged.  She  sat  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  large  scrap- 
book  filled  with  newspaper  cuttings  —  a  book  which  Idris 
was  never  permitted  to  see,  Mrs.  Breakspear  being  accus 
tomed,  as  soon  as  her  readings  were  ended,  to  lock  the 
volume  within  a  drawer  of  the  old  oak  press.  She  had 
read  these  extracts  so  often  as  to  be  able  to  recite  the 
greater  part  of  them  by  heart :  nevertheless,  she  con 
tinued  to  con  them  daily,  as  if  they  were  quite  new  to 
her,  though  their  perusal  must  have  given  her  pain. 

The  first  of  these  newspaper  extracts  was  a  long  article 
from  the  journal  L Eioile  de  la  Bretagne,  worded  as 
follows :  — 

"  Let  us  review  the  facts  of  this  remarkable  case. 

"  Eric  Marville  is  a  gentleman  of  English  birth  who 
settled  at  Nantes  in  the  spring  of  1866.  Of  handsome 
person  and  polished  manners,  speaking  our  language  with 
the  ease  of  a  native,  and  recently  married  to  a  rich  and 
beautiful  wife,  M.  Marville  soon  became  a  favourite  in 
the  higher  circles  of  Nantes  society.  The  Armorique 

22 


A  Retrospect 

Club,  the  most  fashionable  of  its  kind,  admitted  him  to 
membership.  It  would  have  been  well  had  M.  Marville 
never  entered  the  salons  of  this  establishment,  since  it 
was  here  that  he  first  met  Henri  Duchesne.  The  latter 
by  all  accounts  was  a  professional  gamester,  though  up 
to  the  present  time  nothing  dishonourable  has  been 
proved  in  connection  with  his  play. 

"  From  the  very  first  these  two  men,  Eric  Marville  and 
Henri  Duchesne,  for  some  unknown  reason,  appear  to 
have  been  in  a  state  of  secret  hostility  to  each  other, 
hostility  which  finally  developed  into  open  rupture.  A 
remark  uttered  by  Marville  one  evening,  and  doubtless 
uttered  with  no  ill  intent,  on  the  wonderful  luck  attend 
ing  M.  Duchesne  at  cards,  was  interpreted  by  the  latter 
as  a  reflection  upon  his  mode  of  playing,  and  he  imme 
diately  challenged  the  other  to  a  duel.  M.  Marville 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  the  words  :  — '  It  is 
not  the  fashion  of  my  countrymen,  monsieur,  to  fight  a 
duel  over  trifles.'  '  Do  you  call  the  honour  of  my  name 
a  trifle  ? '  exclaimed  Duchesne,  at  the  same  time  con 
temptuously  flinging  a  glass  of  wine  in  Marville's  face. 

"  In  a  moment  the  club  was  in  an  uproar,  the  friends 
of  each  striving  to  keep  the  two  men  apart,  an  object 
successfully  accomplished.  All  efforts,  however,  to  effect 
a  reconciliation  failed,  and  the  two  men  left  the  club 
avowedly  enemies. 

"  The  next  evening  M.  Marville  was  again  present  at 
the  Amorique  Club,  but,  confining  himself  to  the  news 
papers  and  political  gossip,  took  no  part  in  the  play  that 
went  on.  M.  Duchesne  was  likewise  present,  and  entered 
the  lists  against  M.  Montagne,  a  young  lieutenant  of 
Chasseurs.  The  usual  good  fortune  attended  Duchesne, 
and  his  opponent  having  lost  all  the  money  upon  his 
person,  said:  — '  I  have  one  more  stake,  if  M.  Duchesne 
does  not  object  to  play  against  it.'  And  with  these 

23 


The  Viking's  Skull 

words  Montague  drew  forth  a  large  silver  circlet  having 
every  appearance,  according  to  an  antiquary  who  was 
present,  of  being  an  altar-ring,  such  as  was  used  in  the 
religious  rites  of  ancient  Scandinavia. 

"  M.  Marville,  happening  to  set  eyes  upon  this  circlet, 
became  singularly  agitated ;  and,  stepping  up  to  the 
table  where  the  two  men  were  at  play,  he  said,  address 
ing  Montagne :  '  How  came  you  by  that  ring  ? '  M. 
Montagne,  absorbed  in  the  play,  or  perhaps  deeming  the 
question  an  impertinent  one,  made  no  reply.  The  play 
resulted  in  the  transference  of  the  ring  to  the  pockets  of 
M.  Duchesne,  who  shortly  afterwards  took  his  departure. 
Five  minutes  later  M.  Marville  likewise  quitted  the  club, 
and,  on  being  asked  by  a  friend  why  he  left  earlier  than 
usual,  replied  :  —  'To  recover  my  ring.' 

"  Two  hours  afterwards,  a  sergent-de-ville,  going  his 
accustomed  round,  heard  cries  for  help  coming  from  the 
Place  Graslin,  and  on  running  to  the  spot  found  M. 
Duchesne  lying  on  the  pavement  with  blood  flowing 
from  a  wound  in  the  breast.  M.  Marville  was  kneeling 
beside  him  and  calling  for  help. 

"  The  injured  man  was  at  once  removed  to  the  adjacent 
surgery  of  M.  Rosaire,  who,  upon  examination,  found 
that  life  had  fled. 

"  The  body  was  conveyed  to  the  Prefecture,  accom 
panied  by  M.  Marville,  who  gave  evidence  as  to  the  find 
ing  of  it.  His  statement  amounted  to  no  more  than  that 
in  walking  homewards  he  had  come  by  accident  upon  the 
body  of  the  fallen  man. 

"  The  high  position  held  by  M.  Marville,  and  his 
plausible  explanation  of  the  situation  in  which  he  had 
been  found  by  the  sergent-de-ville t  prevented  the  authori 
ties  from  attaching  suspicion  to  him,  and  on  giving  his 
recognizances  to  appear  when  required,  M.  Marville  was 
allowed  to  depart. 

24 


A  Retrospect 

"  But  the  investigations  carried  on  next  day  gave  a 
different  turn  to  the  affair.  The  quarrel  at  the  Armorique 
Club  and  the  threatening  language  of  the  two  men  were 
recalled.  Marville's  remark  on  leaving  the  club  in  the 
wake  of  M.  Duchesne  to  the  effect  that  he  was  going  to 
recover  the  ring  seemed  to  supply  an  additional  motive 
for  the  deed,  especially  when  taken  in  conjunction  with 
the  fact  that  though  M.  Duchesne's  money  and  jewellery 
were  untouched  the  ring  itself  was  missing. 

"  But  the  most  significant  circumstance  of  all  was  the 
finding  of  the  dagger  with  which  the  murder  had  been 
effected.  Shown  to  M.  Lenoir,  the  well-known  dealer  in 
antiquities,  whose  establishment  is  in  the  Rue  Crebillon, 
he  identified  it  as  one  that  had  been  purchased  from  him 
by  M.  Marville  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the 
crime  took  place.  The  weapon  is  an  Italian  stiletto,  one 
warranted  to  have  belonged  originally  to  the  famous 
bravo,  Michele  Pezza,  better  known  to  frequenters  of  the 
opera  as  Fra  Diavolo.  M.  Lenoir  mentioned  this  cir 
cumstance  as  he  handed  the  weapon  to  the  purchaser, 
adding :  —  'It  is  a  dagger  that  has  shed  the  blood  of 
Frenchmen.'  — '  And  may  do  so  again,'  was  the  singular 
reply  of  M.  Marville. 

"  These  circumstances  seem  to  justify  the  arrest  of  M. 
Marville,  who  now  stands  charged  with  the  murder  of  M. 
Duchesne. 

"  A  peculiar  feature  of  the  case  is  the  vanishing  of  the 
altar-ring.  The  prisoner  declines  to  make  any  statement 
respecting  it,  and  though  his  house  has  been  searched  no 
trace  of  it  can  be  discovered." 

****** 

Mrs.  Breakspear  put  away  the  book  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
"  Ah,  Eric  !  "  she  murmured.     "  Will  your  innocence 
ever  be  established  ?  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

TRAGEDY ! 

MRS.  BREAKSPEAR  sat  by  the  open  case 
ment  enjoying  the  deep  beauty  of  the  even 
ing.     The  air  was  still  and  clear,  and  over  the 
bay  hung  one  star  sparkling  in  a  sapphire  sky. 

Idris,  seated  with  her,  had  eyes  for  nothing  but  the 
yacht  Nemesis,  which  still  lay  out  in  the  offing,  rising  and 
falling  with  the  motion  of  the  tide,  and  showing  a  tiny 
light  at  the  stern. 

"  Look,  mother  !  "  he  cried  suddenly.  "  They  are  put 
ting  out  a  boat." 

By  the  faint  starlight  they  could  see  in  the  boat  seven 
men,  one  of  whom  steered  while  the  rest  rowed.  Their 
garb  was  that  of  ordinary  French  seamen,  but  Mrs. 
Breakspear  noticed  with  surprise  that  each  was  armed 
with  cutlass  and  pistol. 

"  Why  are  they  not  coming  to  the  harbour?"  asked 
Idris,  a  question  which  found  an  echo  in  his  mother's 
mind. 

The  boat  glided  smoothly  on,  and  finally  vanished  be 
hind  the  cliffs  to  the  east  of  the  town. 

"  I  wonder  whether  old  Baptiste  is  watching  them  ?  " 
said  Idris.  "  He  said  that  the  men  in  the  yacht  were 
smugglers,  and  that  they  would  come  ashore  this  even 
ing.  And  sure  enough  they've  come." 

"  If  the  men  in  that  boat  are  smugglers,  don't  you 
think,  Idie,  that  they  would  wait  till  it  is  much  darker  ?  " 

Idris  was  forced  to  admit  the  reasonableness  of  this  re 
mark. 

26 


Tragedy ! 

"  Why  are  they  all  wearing  swords  ?  Perhaps  they  are 
Vikings,  after  all  ?  "  he  went  on,  loth  to  believe  that  such 
heroes  had  vanished  from  the  earth. 

His  mother  shook  her  head  in  mild  protest,  not  know 
ing  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  latter-day  Vikingism 
in  the  enterprise  that  was  taking  these  seven  men 
ashore. 

Now  as  Mrs.  Breakspear  sat  in  the  silence  and  solem 
nity  of  the  deepening  twilight  she  became  subject  to  a 
feeling  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  before  exper 
ienced.  A  vague  awe,  a  presentiment  of  coming  ill, 
stole  over  her  ;  and,  yielding  to  its  influence,  she  resolved, 
before  it  should  be  too  late,  to  carry  out  a  purpose  she 
had  long  had  in  mind. 

"  Idie,"  she  said,  closing  the  casement  and  moving  to 
the  fireplace,  "  come  and  sit  here.  I  have  something  to 
tell  you." 

Wondering  much  at  her  grave  manner  the  little  fellow 
obeyed. 

"  Idie,"  she  began,  "  you  have  been  taught  to  believe 
that  your  father  died  when  you  were  an  infant.  I  have 
told  you  this,  thinking  it  right  that  you  should  know 
nothing  of  his  sad  history.  But,  sooner  or  later,  you  are 
sure  to  hear  it  from  others :  told,  too,  in  a  way  that  I 
would  not  have  you  believe.  Therefore  it  is  better  that 
you  should  hear  the  story  from  me :  and  remember  to 
take  these  words  of  mine  for  your  guidance  in  all  future 
years  :  and  if  men  should  speak  ill  of  your  father,  do  not 
believe  them :  for  who  should  know  him  better  than  I, 
his  wife  ?  " 

She  paused  for  a  moment :  and  Idris,  new  to  this  sort 
of  language,  made  no  reply. 

"  Idie,  your  father  is  not  dead." 

Idris'  eyes  became  big  with  wonder. 

"  Then  why  doesn't  he  live  with  us  ?  "  he  asked. 

27 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Because,"  replied  his  mother,  sinking  her  voice  to  a 
whisper,  "  because  he  is  in  prison." 

As  prison  is  a  place  usually  associated  with  crime,  Idris 
naturally  received  a  shock,  which  his  mother  was  not  slow 
to  perceive. 

"  Idie,  you  know  something  of  history,  and  therefore 
you  know  that  many  a  good  man  has  found  himself  in 
prison  before  to-day." 

"  O  yes  :  there  was  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  that  Earl 
of  Surrey  who  was  a  poet :  and  —  and  —  I  can't  think  of 
any  more  at  present,  but  I  can  find  them  in  the  book." 

"  Well,  your  father,  like  many  others  in  history,  is 
suffering  unjustly." 

"  What  do  they  say  he  did  ?  " 

"  They  say,"  replied  his  mother,  once  more  sinking  her 
voice  to  a  whisper,  "  they  say  he  committed  murder. 
But  he  did  not :  he  did  not :  he  did  not.  I  have  his  word 
that  he  is  innocent.  I  will  set  his  word  against  all  the 
rest  of  the  world." 

"  How  long  is  he  to  remain  in  prison  ?  " 

"  He  is  never  to  come  out,"  replied  Mrs.  Breakspear ; 
and,  unable  to  control  her  emotion,  she  burst  into  a  fit  of 
sobbing. 

Idris,  touched  by  the  sight  of  his  mother's  grief,  began 
to  cry  also.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  understood  why 
his  mother  so  often  wept  in  secret.  How  could  men  be 
so  cruel  as  to  take  his  father  away  from  her  and  to  shut 
him  up  in  prison  for  a  crime  he  had  not  committed? 

"  Why  didn't  they  put  him  under  the  guillotine  ?  "  he 
asked,  when  his  fit  of  crying  was  over. 

A  natural  question,  but  one  that  caused  his  mother  to 
shiver. 

"  Do  not  use  that  awful  word,"  she  said.  "  He  was 
condemned  to  death,  but  the  sentence  was  afterwards 
changed." 

28 


Tragedy ! 

Certain  past  events  were  now  seen  by  Idris  in  a  new 
light. 

"  Mother,  I  know  in  what  prison  father  is.  It  is  the 
one  on  the  moorland  over  there,"  he  exclaimed,  indicat 
ing  the  direction  with  his  hand. 

"  You  are  right,  Idie :  and  now  you  know  why  I  live 
at  Quilaix.  It  is  that  I  may  be  near  your  father.  I  am 
happier  here  —  if  indeed  I  may  use  the  word  happy  in 
speaking  of  myself — than  in  any  other  place.  I  have  a 
beautiful  house  at  Nantes,  but  I  cannot  live  there  in  ease 
and  luxury  while  your  father  is  deprived  of  everything 
that  makes  life  bright.  Now  listen,  Idie,  for  I  am  going 
to  require  of  you  a  solemn  promise.  Since  your  father 
did  not  commit  the  murder  it  is  certain  that  some  one 
else  did.  I  want  you  to  find  that  man." 

"  I,  mother?" 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  now.  In  after  years.  When 
you  are  a  man." 

"  But  supposing  the  murderer  should  be  dead  ? " 

"  You  must  find  him,  living  or  dead :  if  living,  you 
must  bring  him  to  justice :  if  dead,  you  must  show  to  the 
world  that  your  father  was  guiltless  of  the  deed.  He 
himself,  confined  as  he  is  within  prison  walls,  can  do  noth 
ing  to  establish  his  innocence :  and  as  for  me,  I  have  the 
feeling  that  I  shall  not  live  long.  Grief  is  shortening  my 
days.  To  you,  then,  I  leave  this  task :  to  it  you  must 
devote  your  whole  life.  You  will  be  spared  the  necessity 
of  having  to  earn  your  living,  since  you  are  well  pro 
vided  for.  But  though  health,  strength,  and  fortune  be 
yours,  you  will  find  these  advantages  embittered  by  the 
constant  thought,  '  Men  think  me  the  son  of  a  mur 
derer  ! '  Will  you  let  the  world  do  you  this  injustice  ? 
Will  you  not  try  to  clear  your  father's  memory  ?  Will 
you  not  ever  bear  in  mind  your  mother's  dearest  wish  ?  " 

Moved  by  her  earnestness  Idris  gave  the  required 

29 


The  Viking's  Skull 

promise,  consoling  himself  over  the  present  difficulty  of 
the  problem  by  the  thought  that  it  would  perhaps  seem 
easier  in  the  days  to  come. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  the  story  we  read  the  other 
day,"  continued  his  mother,  "  of  the  great  Hannibal ; 
how,  when  he  was  a  boy  his  father,  leading  him  to  the 
altar,  made  him  swear  to  be  the  lifelong  enemy  of 
Rome  ?  You,  too,  must  make  a  similar  oath.  Bring  me 
the  Bible." 

Idris  brought  it,  and  at  his  mother's  command  laid  his 
hand  upon  a  page  of  the  open  Book,  and  repeated  after 
her  the  following  words  :  — 

"  I  swear  on  reaching  manhood  to  do  my  best  to  es 
tablish  my  father's  innocence.  May  God  help  me  to 
keep  this  oath  !  " 

"  Say  it  again,  Idie." 

Idris  accordingly  repeated  the  vow,  feeling  somewhat 
proud  in  thus  imitating  the  Carthaginian  hero. 

His  mother  brushed  back  the  curls  from  his  forehead 
and  looked  earnestly  into  his  eyes. 

"  Little  Idris  !  little  Idris  ! "  she  murmured.  "  Am  I 
acting  foolishly?  I  am  forgetting  that  you  are  only 
seven  years  of  age  —  scarcely  old  enough  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  what  you  have  just  uttered.  No  matter  : 
when  you  are  older,  if  you  are  a  true  son,  as  I  feel  sure 
you  will  be,  you  will  not  require  the  memory  of  this 
oath  to  teach  you  your  duty.  And  now  I  will  tell  you 
the  story  of  the  murder,  and  why  your  father  came  to  be 
suspected  of—  Ha !  what  is  that  ? "  she  gasped, 
breaking  off  abruptly.  "  Listen  !  O,  Idie,  who  is  it  ?  " 

They  had  believed  themselves  to  be  alone  in  the  house. 
Mrs.  Breakspear,  before  retiring  to  this  sitting-room,  had 
made  fast  the  outer  doors  as  well  as  the  lower  windows. 
In  such  circumstances,  therefore,  it  was  alarming  to  hear 
footsteps  ascending  the  staircase  —  footsteps  which  Mrs. 

30 


Tragedy ! 

Breakspear  instinctively  felt  to  be  those  of  a  man,  and 
not  of  a  woman ;  footsteps,  not  of  Old  Pol,  but  of  a 
stranger !  How  had  he  gained  access  to  the  house,  and 
what  was  his  object  ? 

The  unknown  visitor  had  mounted  to  the  head  of  the 
staircase  and  was  now  advancing  along  the  passage  lead 
ing  to  the  room  in  which  Mrs.  Breakspear  sat.  Unable 
to  speak  from  surprise  and  fear  mother  and  son  gazed  at 
the  door  with  dilated  eyes  as  if  expecting  to  see  some 
awful  vision. 

The  door  was  pushed  open,  and  Mrs.  Breakspear 
could  scarcely  suppress  a  scream  at  sight  of  the  man 
who  entered,  for  his  face  was  hidden  behind  a  black  silk 
vizard,  such  as  might  be  worn  at  a  bal  masque,  and 
through  the  holes  of  the  vizard  two  eyes  could  be  seen 
sparkling,  so  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Breakspear,  with  a  sinister 
expression.  A  low-crowned  soft  hat  covered  his  head ; 
and  a  cloak,  reaching  to  his  heels,  completely  concealed 
his  person. 

He  came  forward  a  few  paces,  glancing  round  the 
room  as  he  did  so,  and  seeming  to  derive  satisfaction 
from  the  fact  that  it  contained  no  persons  more  formida 
ble  than  a  woman  and  a  child. 

"  You  are  alarmed,  madame,  but  without  reason,"  he 
began.  "  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  do  you  hurt  — "  he 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  unless  your 
obstinacy  should  call  for  it." 

The  man's  voice  was  altogether  strange  to  Mrs.  Break 
spear.  He  spoke  in  French,  but  with  an  accent  that 
somehow  impressed  her  with  the  belief  that  he  was  an 
Englishman :  one,  too,  accustomed  to  move  in  good 
society. 

"  The  first  fact  I  would  impress  upon  your  mind  is 
this,"  continued  the  stranger,  "  that  you  are  alone,  un 
protected,  in  my  power  absolutely.  If  you  raise  your 

31 


The  Viking's  Skull 

voice  there  is  no  one  either  in  the  house  or  in  the  street 
to  hear  you.  The  town  is  practically  deserted.  All  are 
gone  to  the  Pardon,  a  fact  I  have  taken  into  my  calcula 
tions.  If  you  will  reflect  upon  this,  it  may  facilitate  my 
errand." 

These  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were  spoken, 
did  not  tend  to  allay  Mrs.  Breakspear's  fears.  With 
difficulty  she  gathered  voice  to  speak. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

A  smile  appeared  beneath  the  fringe  of  the  silken 
vizard. 

"  This  mask  is  sufficient  proof  that  I  wish  to  conceal 
my  identity." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  A  more  sensible  question  than  your  first,  since  it 
brings  us  to  the  point  at  once.  I  require,  nay,  I  demand 
of  you,  the  Norse  altar-ring  now  in  your  keeping." 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  supposing  that  it  is  here  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Breakspear,  growing  bolder. 

"  Do  not  equivocate."  The  eyes  in  the  mask  flashed 
like  polished  steel.  "  I  know  it  to  be  in  your  possession. 
Do  you  deny  it  ? "  Mrs.  Breakspear  was  silent.  "  You 
do  not  deny  it  ?  Good !  The  ring  being  here,  I  de 
mand  it." 

"  Why  do  you  want  it?  " 

"  I  decline  to  be  catechised.     Give  me  the  ring." 

"  You  are  evidently  a  gentleman  by  education,  if  not 
by  birth."  The  stranger  gave  a  start  at  this.  "  And  yet 
you  seek  to  act  the  part  of  a  common  thief,  a  part  you 
would  not  dare  act,"  she  cried  with  spirit,  "  were  I  a  man, 
and  not  a  defenceless  woman." 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  I  did  not  come  to  listen  to  moral  vapourings,  but  to 
receive  the  ring." 

"  And  what  if  I  refuse  to  comply  with  your  demand  ?  " 

32 


Tragedy ! 

"  You  are  alone,  let  me  repeat,  and  absolutely  at  my 
mercy." 

A  dagger  flashed  from  beneath  his  cloak.  With  a  cry 
Mrs.  Breakspear  clasped  Idris  in  her  arms  to  shield  him 
from  a  possible  attack.  Yet  even  amid  her  fear  it  did 
not  escape  her  notice  that  the  hand  which  held  the  weapon 
was  small,  white,  and  decorated  with  a  diamond  ring. 

"  Listen  to  the  voice  of  prudence,"  continued  the 
stranger.  "  It  is  within  my  power  to  despatch  you  both, 
and  to  search  these  apartments  for  the  ring  which  you 
admit  is  somewhere  here.  I  am  quite  prepared  to  go  to 
that  extreme  rather  than  return  without  it.  You  will, 
therefore,  see  the  wisdom  of  surrendering  the  ring :  you 
thus  save  your  life  and  that  of  your  child :  I  save  time 
and  trouble — an  arrangement  mutually  advantageous." 

Something  in  his  tone  convinced  Mrs.  Breakspear  that 
he  was  quite  capable  of  carrying  out  his  threat. 

"  You  will  find  the  ring  in  an  ebony  case  in  the  top 
drawer  of  that  cabinet.  Take  it :  and  if  it  should  bring 
upon  you  the  curse  which  it  has  brought  upon  me  and 
mine,  you  will  live  to  rue  this  day." 

The  man  smiled,  put  up  his  weapon,  walked  towards 
the  oak  press,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  casket  was  in 
his  hands. 

"  Yes,  this  is  it,"  he  murmured  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction, 
as  he  drew  the  ring  from  the  case,  and  scrutinized  the 
runic  inscription. 

"  May  one  ask,"  he  continued,  concealing  the  relic 
upon  his  person,  "  how  you  came  to  deny  all  knowledge 
of  it  at  the  trial  of  your  husband  ?  " 

"  I  spoke  truly,"  she  answered,  "  being  unaware  at  the 
time  that  my  husband  had  secretly  entrusted  it  to  the 
care  of  his  friend,  Captain  Rochefort." 

"  After  stealing  it  from  the  body  of  his  victim,"  added 
the  stranger. 

3  33 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  His  victim  ?  There  you  err,"  cried  Mrs.  Breakspear 
with  flashing  eyes,  loathing  to  answer  the  stranger,  yet 
eager  to  vindicate  her  husband.  "  When  my  husband 
left  the  Armorique  Club  on  that  fatal  evening  he  overtook 
M.  Duchesne  on  his  way  home,  and  upon  the  latter's  ex 
pressing  regret  for  his  violence  of  the  preceding  night  a 
reconciliation  took  place.  As  a  pledge  of  amity  M. 
Duchesne,  remembering  the  interest  my  husband  had 
shown  in  the  ring,  made  him  a  present  of  it :  in  return  my 
husband  insisted  that  Duchesne  should  accept  the  antique 
poniard  purchased  by  him  that  morning.  Thus  they 
parted :  the  one  with  the  ring,  the  other  with  the  dagger. 
The  assassin,  whoever  he  was,  that  attacked  Duchesne, 
must,  during  the  struggle,  have  become  possessed  of  the 
dagger,  and  with  it  he  inflicted  the  fatal  wound.  Next 
morning,  my  husband,  foreseeing  that  he  might  be  ac 
cused  of  the  murder,  and  aware  that  his  possession  of  the 
ring  would  seem  a  suspicious  circumstance,  handed  it  to 
Captain  Rochefort,  enjoining  him,  very  unwisely  as  I  now 
perceive,  to  keep  silent  on  the  matter." 

"  And  so,"  commented  the  stranger,  "  Captain  Roche- 
fort  conspired  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice." 

"  The  word  justice  comes  with  an  ill  grace  from  the  lips 
of  a  coward  and  a  thief,"  retorted  Mrs.  Breakspear,  her 
spirit  rising,  as  it  always  rose,  whenever  her  husband's 
innocence  was  put  to  the  doubt.  "  Say,  rather,  that  in 
concealing  the  ring  Captain  Rochefort  was  seeking  to 
prevent  the  Law  from  drawing  an  erroneous  conclusion." 

"  He  failed,  however,"  sneered  the  stranger,  "  for  the 
Law  pronounced  your  husband  guilty  —  greatly  to  my 
interests.  A  pity  they  didn't  guillotine  him !  Still,  he 

is  in  prison:  there  let  him  rot!  and Ah!"  he 

muttered  in  a  hoarse  voice,  breaking  off  abruptly.  "  In 
the  name  of  hell,  what's  that  ?  " 

He  could  not  have  been  a  very  brave  man,  Idris 

34 


Tragedy ! 

thought,  for  he  seemed  unable  to  keep  his  hand  which 
rested  on  the  table  from  shaking. 

All  three  were  silent,  listening  for  a  renewal  of  the 
sound.  It  soon  came  —  a  dull  boom  slowly  rolling 
through  the  air  like  distant  thunder. 

With  the  air  of  one  mad  the  stranger  dashed  to  the 
window,  and  flinging  wide  the  casement  looked  out  into 
the  night,  a  night  of  glory  and  beauty,  such  as  is  seldom 
seen  in  misty  Brittany.  The  air  from  horizon  to  zenith 
was  alive  with  countless  stars  that  seemed  to  float  like 
silver  dust  in  the  blue  depth.  Their  faint  light  falling 
over  a  wide  expanse  of  rippling  sea,  and  on  a  long  arc  of 
yellow  sand  terminated  at  each  end  by  dark  cliffs,  formed 
a  picture  that  would  have  charmed  the  eye  of  an  artist. 

Idris,  his  curiosity  getting  the  better  of  his  fear,  slipped 
from  his  mother's  embrace,  and,  stealing  to  a  second  case 
ment,  looked  through  its  latticed  panes. 

On  the  water  was  the  boat  he  had  noticed  earlier  in  the 
evening,  the  boat  that  had  been  put  out  from  the  yacht. 
If  its  occupants  had  gone  ashore  for  the  purpose  of 
taking  some  one  aboard  they  had  failed  in  their  object, 
since  the  boat  contained  the  same  seven  sailors.  They 
were  evidently  in  a  state  of  perplexity  :  for,  without  any 
apparent  motive,  they  were  rowing  backwards  and  for 
wards  in  a  line  parallel  with  the  shore,  the  steersman  now 
and  then  standing  up  and  sweeping  the  coast  with  a  night- 
glass. 

Turning  his  eyes  upon  the  yacht  Idris  saw  jets  of  black 
smoke  issuing  from  the  funnel.  The  engineer  was  evi 
dently  getting  up  steam. 

Here,  thought  Idris,  was  the  explanation  of  the  boom 
ing  sound.  The  yacht  was  about  to  weigh  anchor,  and 
had  fired  a  gun  as  a  signal  of  departure. 

The  masked  man,  however,  did  not  seem  to  think  that 
the  sound  came  from  the  yacht.  With  his  body  half  out 

35 


The  Viking's  Skull 


of  the  window  he  was  staring  at  the  plateau  of  brown 
moorland  with  its  faint  silvery  crown  —  staring  as  if  be 
hind  that  white  mist  some  exciting  event  were  happening 
that  he  would  fain  witness. 

Once  more  came  the  dull,  rolling  reverberation,  and  at 
that  sound  the  man  reeled  from  the  window  as  if  buffeted 
by  a  giant  hand. 

"  Damnation  !  he  has  escaped,"  he  hissed  between  his 
set  teeth.  "  Is  this  their  vigilance,  after  being  warned  of 
the  plot?  But  my  enemy  shall  not  escape.  I'll  join  in 
the  chase  myself.  That  gun  invites  pursuit.  It  is  law 
ful,"  and  here  a  sinister  smile  appeared  beneath  the  fringe 
of  his  mask,  "  it  is  lawful  to  shoot  a  fugitive  convict." 

With  that  he  darted  from  the  room  and  dashed  down 
the  staircase :  the  slamming  of  a  door  followed,  and  the 
next  moment  his  tread  could  be  heard  going  up  the  street 
in  the  direction  of  the  moorland  prison. 

The  indignation  felt  by  Mrs.  Breakspear  at  the  theft 
of  the  ring  became  lost  in  a  new  emotion.  A  convict 
had  escaped,  and  the  stranger's  words  seemed  almost  to 
imply  that  the  fugitive  was  —  her  husband  !  She  strove 
to  banish  this  idea  as  a  wild  fancy,  as  a  too  daring  hope 
on  her  part,  but  it  would  persist  in  forcing  itself  upon  her. 
With  her  hand  pressed  to  her  side  she  sat,  powerless  to 
speak,  trembling  at  the  thought  that  at  that  very  moment 
Eric  Marville  might  be  fleeing  over  the  misty  moorland 
with  armed  warders  in  close  pursuit  eager  to  bring  him 
down  with  a  carbine  shot. 

"  Hark  !  there  goes  another  gun,"  cried  Idris.  "  Who 
is  it  that  is  firing,  and  why  are  they  doing  it  ?  " 

Something  else  besides  the  gun  was  now  heard.  Along 
the  lonely  and  usually  silent  road  that  led  down  from  the 
moorland  to  Quilaix  came  a  sound,  which,  at  first  faint 
and  undistinguishable  in  character,  became  gradually 
more  distinct,  and  finally  developed  into  the  thud-thud 

36 


Tragedy ! 

of  horse-hoofs,  accompanied  by  the  noise  of  wheels  rat 
tling  madly  forward  as  if  speed  were  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  to  the  driver  of  the  vehicle. 

Louder  and  ever  louder  grew  the  sound  of  the  gallop 
ing  horse-hoofs ;  they  descended  the  moorland :  they 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town :  they  came  plunging 
up  the  Rue  Grande,  and  at  last  the  wild  race  was  brought 
to  a  sudden  standstill  in  front  of  the  harbour-master's 
door. 

Idris,  looking  from  the  window,  saw  in  the  street  be 
low  a  light  gig,  and  in  it  a  man  of  soldierly  aspect,  who 
was  holding  the  reins  with  a  tight  hand  and  using  his  best 
endeavours  to  keep  the  panting  and  steaming  mare  steady 
in  order  to  facilitate  the  descent  of  a  second  man. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Eric,  make  haste,"  cried  the  one  in 
the  gig,  with  a  backward  glance.  "  They  can't  be  far  be 
hind  us." 

The  man  to  whom  these  words  were  spoken  delivered 
a  succession  of  knocks  at  the  street-door,  the  loud,  im 
perative  knocks  of  one  whose  errand  will  brook  no  delay. 

Without  waiting  for  his  mother's  bidding  Idris  flew 
down  the  stairs  eager  to  learn  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
summons. 

On  opening  the  door  he  found  on  the  threshold  a  man 
draped  from  neck  to  ankles  in  a  grey  ulster,  a  man  who 
acted  in  a  very  strange  way,  for  he  lifted  Idris  completely 
off  his  feet  and  kissed  him  several  times. 

Now  Idris,  though  not  at  all  averse  to  the  kisses  of  his 
mother  or  of  the  fishermen's  daughters,  had  an  objection 
to  the  kisses  of  a  man,  and  especially  of  a  strange  man, 
and  he  struggled  to  be  free. 

"  Where's  your  mother  ?  "  cried  the  stranger,  setting 
Idris  down. 

"  She's  up  there,"  answered  Idris,  indicating  the  stair 
case.  "  But  you'd  better  not  kiss  her.  She  won't  like  it." 

37 


The  Viking's  Skull 

The  man  gave  a  joyous  laugh. 

"Won't  she?  Well,  let  us  see,"  was  his  answer,  and 
he  darted  swiftly  up  the  staircase,  first  calling  out  to  the 
man  in  the  gig :  — 

"  See  to  the  boy,  Noel." 

"  Now,  my  little  man,"  said  the  military  gentleman, 
"  jump  up  here.  You  are  going  for  a  sail  in  that  pretty 
ship  yonder  in  the  bay." 

Idris'  eyes  sparkled  at  this  enchanting  prospect. 

"  But  I  can't  go  without  my  mother." 

"  Oh,  she's  coming  too  ;  your  father  as  well." 

"My  father?"  laughed  Idris.  "Why,  my  father  is 
in " 

He  checked  the  word  "  prison "  upon  his  lips,  and 
substituted  for  it  the  euphemism,  "  Over  there." 

"  By  God !  that's  where  he'll  be  again,  unless  he 
hurries,"  cried  the  military  gentleman.  "  That's  your 
father  who  has  just  run  up-stairs." 

His  father  up-stairs  !  The  day  had  been  a  succession  of 
surprises  to  Idris,  and  this  was  the  climax  of  them  all. 
He  had  never  known  such  an  exciting  time.  Deaf  to  the 
gentleman's  command  to  ascend  the  vehicle  he  turned 
and  scampered  hastily  up  to  his  mother's  sitting-room, 
where  he  beheld  a  sight  that  struck  him  dumb. 

The  stranger  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
with  Mrs.  Breakspear  in  his  arms,  her  cheek  pillowed  on 
his  breast. 

"  Eric,  O,  Eric  !  "  she  murmured  :  and  the  pure  joy  of 
that  moment  transfigured  her  face  with  the  light  and 
beauty  of  an  angel's. 

"  Edith,  my  sweet  wife !  "  cried  the  man  pressing  her 
lips  to  his.  "  This  kiss  is  a  compensation  for  all  I  have 
suffered.  There  !  you  mustn't  faint.  Why,  here's  our 
boy.  What  a  fine  fellow  he  is  becoming !  Well,  Idris, 
what  do  you  think  of  your  father  and  his  court  dress  ?  " 

38 


Tragedy ! 

Idris'  face  fell  as  he  surveyed  the  newcomer.  This 
man  with  his  close-cropped  head,  grimy  visage,  stubbly 
beard,  and  half-savage  air,  his  father  !  Beneath  the  grey 
ulster  there  peeped  out  the  prison  livery,  clad  in  which 
garb  divine  Apollo  himself  would  lose  all  grace  and 
majesty. 

Eric  Marville  was  not  slow  to  read  the  thoughts  of  his 
little  son,  and  he  smiled  grimly. 

"  Upon  my  word,  he  stares  as  if  I  were  some  wild  ani 
mal.  I  verily  believe  I  am  :  prison  life  grinds  every  trace 
of  the  godlike  out  of  a  man.  —  But  come,  Edith,  we 
haven't  a  moment  to  lose.  You  can  hear  that  they  have 
discovered  my  escape,"  he  continued,  as  another  boom 
rolled  over  the  moorland.  "  Rochefort  was  for  hurrying 
me  on  board  his  yacht  at  once,  but  it  wasn't  likely  that  I 
would  leave  you  and  the  boy  behind,  when  you  were  so 
close  at  hand.  Come,  Edith  and  Idris,  wife  and  son, 
come !  Away  to  a  new  life  in  a  new  land  ! " 

At  that  moment  there  came  from  without  the  warning 
voice  of  Captain  Rochefort. 

"  Marville  !  Marville,"  he  roared.  "  Look  to  yourself. 
They're  here." 

As  he  spoke  quick  footsteps  came  clattering  over  the 
pavement  of  the  Rue  Grande,  and  the  ping-ping  of  car 
bine  shots  rang  out  on  the  night-air.  The  bullets  were 
intended  for  the  Captain,  but  missed  their  mark  ;  and  the 
mare  taking  fright  at  the  report  set  off  at  a  gallop,  fol 
lowed  by  the  pursuers,  who  were  on  foot. 

"  Halt !  "  shouted  an  authoritative  voice.  "  Let  the  car 
go  ;  that's  not  the  quarry.  Our  man's  in  here ;  this  is  his 
wife's  abode.  Through  the  house,  two  of  you,  and  guard 
the  rear.  Two  of  you  watch  the  front.  Leave  the  rest 
to  me.  I'll  unearth  him." 

The  man  who  gave  these  commands  rushed  through 
the  doorway  of  the  harbour-master's  dwelling,  and,  as  if 

39 


The  Viking's  Skull 

guided  by  instinct,  neglected  the  lower  storey  and  made 
his  way  up  the  staircase. 

All  this  took  place  so  quickly  that  Marville  was  for  the 
moment  paralyzed  with  surprise,  and  stood  motionless 
and  silent,  with  his  scared  wife  clinging  to  him. 

"  Don't  make  any  resistance,  Eric,  dearest,"  she  pleaded. 
"  It  will  be  better  not." 

Springing  from  his  lethargy  Marville  put  aside  the  arms 
of  his  wife  and  made  for  the  open  window,  only  to  per 
ceive  two  watchful  gendarmes  in  the  street  below,  who 
instantly  levelled  their  carbines  at  sight  of  the  convict's 
face. 

The  only  other  outlet  from  the  room  was  through  the 
doorway :  but  there,  framed  within  the  entrance  and 
pistol  in  hand,  stood  a  grey-haired,  fine  looking  veteran, 
clad  in  military  uniform,  Duclair,  governor  of  the  prison, 
who,  alive  to  his  responsibility,  had  himself  joined  in  the 
chase. 

"  Run  to  earth,"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  You're 
fairly  cornered.  It's  no  use  resisting." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  muttered  Marville,  pulling  forth 
a  revolver  —  a  recent  gift  of  Rochefort's  —  with  the  in 
tention  of  forcing  his  way  over  the  disabled  or  dead  body 
of  the  governor. 

"Drop  that,  or  by—  •"  and  Duclair  punctuated  the 
sentence  with  the  significant  raising  of  his  own  weapon. 

Seeing  the  pistol  levelled  Mrs.  Breakspear,  with  up 
lifted  arms,  flung  herself  forward  to  shield  her  husband. 

Simultaneously  with  her  movement  came  a  deadly 
click  from  Marville's  weapon,  followed  instantly  by  a 
loud  bang.  The  report  was  accompanied  by  a  cry  of 
"  Ah !  Eric !  "  and  by  the  fall  of  a  body  —  sounds  that 
sent  a  cold  thrill  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard  them. 

There,  amid  faint  wreaths  of  bluish  smoke,  lay  Mrs. 
Breakspear,  prostrate  on  the  carpet,  her  forehead  dis- 

40 


Tragedy ! 

figured  by  a  spot  from  which  came  the  slow  ooze  of 
blood. 

"  O,  you  have  shot  my  mother ! "  wailed  Idris,  casting 
a  look  of  anguish  at  his  father. 

The  little  fellow  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her,  but 
it  was  only  a  piece  of  clay  upon  which  he  now  gazed : 
his  mother  was  gone  forever :  was  as  much  a  part  of  the 
past  as  the  dead  Caesars  of  history.  Dread  change,  and 
all  the  work  of  a  moment ! 

"  Edith  !  my  wife !     O  God,  I  have  killed  her ! " 

Dropping  the  weapon  Eric  Marville  staggered  forward 
to  lift  up  the  dead  form  and  implore  forgiveness  from  her 
who  was  beyond  power  to  grant  it,  but  ere  he  could  reach 
the  fallen  figure,  strong  hands  were  laid  upon  him,  and  a 
pair  of  steel  manacles  was  clasped  upon  his  wrists. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  who  has  done  this  ?  "  cried  one  of  the 
gendarmes,  appalled  at  the  sight. 

"  The  prisoner,"  responded  the  governor.  "  Take  no 
tice,  all  of  you,  that  my  weapon  is  undischarged." 

The  gendarmes  lifted  the  silent  form  and  laid  it  upon  a 
couch,  and  there  Idris  knelt,  sobbing  bitterly  and  calling 
upon  his  mother  to  speak. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  the  governor,  after  a  brief  inspec 
tion  of  the  body,  "  she  will  never  speak  again.  —  We 
ought,"  he  added,  turning  to  address  his  men,  "  we  ought 
to  send  for  a  doctor,  though  he  can  do  no  good,  for  she 
is  stone  dead." 

There  was  but  one  doctor  in  Quilaix,  and  he,  Idris  ex 
plained  amid  his  tears,  had  gone  with  the  procession  to 
the  Pardon. 

"  We  must  have  some  woman  to  attend  to  the  body," 
continued  Duclair.  "  We  can't  return  to  Valagenet  leav 
ing  the  boy  alone  with  a  corpse.  Surely  all  the  women 
folk  haven't  gone  to  this  cursed  Pardon  ?  " 

Idris,  as  well  as  his  grief  would  let  him,  explained 


The  Viking's  Skull 

where  a  woman  was  likely  to  be  found,  and  a  gendarme 
was  at  once  despatched  to  fetch  her. 

The  man  who  had  done  the  deed  offered  now  no  re 
sistance  to  his  captors.  His  desire  for  liberty  had  fled. 
Overwhelmed  by  the  awful  result  of  his  own  act  he  had 
sunk  into  a  stupor,  staring  with  glassy  eyes  at  that  which 
but  a  few  minutes  before  had  been  a  living  woman. 

Touched  by  the  spectacle  of  his  grief  they  allowed  him 
to  sit  beside  her ;  and,  as  he  showed  a  desire  to  clasp  her 
hand,  the  governor  made  a  sign  to  one  of  the  party  to 
remove  the  manacles. 

This  done,  he  sat  holding  the  limp  fingers  within  his 
own,  pressing  them  as  if  expecting  the  pressure  to  be 
returned. 

The  gendarmes  stood  aloof  in  pitying  silence.  Not 
even  the  governor  spoke,  feeling  the  emptiness  of  any 
attempt  at  consolation. 

As  for  Idris,  he  shrank,  not  unnaturally,  from  the  man 
who  had  killed  his  mother.  Once  he  addressed  to  him  a 
piteous  reproach :  —  "  Oh,  why  did  you  come  here  ?  — 
Oh,  mother,  mother,  speak  to  me  !  " 

Absorbed  in  his  own  grief,  however,  the  man  did  not 
hear,  or,  at  least,  did  not  reply  to  this  plaint.  It  was  a 
melancholy  scene,  and  the  men  awaited  with  secret  im 
patience  the  coming  of  the  woman  to  end  the  oppressive 
spell. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  prisoner  himself.  All 
bent  forward  to  listen,  but  the  words  spoken  conveyed  no 
intelligible  meaning  to  his  hearers.  For,  in  a  cold,  me 
chanical  voice,  that  sounded  like  the  monotone  of  a 
mournful  bell,  he  murmured  over  and  over  again :  — 

"  The  curse  of  the  runic  ring  !  The  curse  of  the  runic 
ring!" 

*  #  #  #  *  * 

Next   day  the  Minister  of  the  Interior   received   the 

42 


Tragedy ! 

following    telegram    from   the   Governor   of  Valagenet 
Prison :  — 

"  Regret  to  state  that  convict,  Eric  Marville,  escaped 
last  night,  by  connivance  of  warder,  bribed  by  Captain 
Noel  Rochefort,  who,  with  light  vehicle,  waited  at  pre 
arranged  time  near  prison.  Owing  to  mist,  two  men 
some  time  in  meeting,  thus  enabling  pursuers  to  overtake 
them  at  6,  Rue  Grande,  Quilaix.  Here  Marville,  resist 
ing  capture,  accidentally  shot  his  wife  dead.  Prisoner 
conveyed  back  to  Valagenet  under  guard  of  four  gen 
darmes.  On  lonely  part  of  moor  escort  assailed  by 
Rochefort  and  six  men.  Suddenness  of  attack  and  nu 
merical  superiority  enabled  assailants  to  effect  rescue. 
Prisoner  carried  ofT,  presumably,  on  board  Nemesis,  as  she 
steamed  off  immediately  afterwards." 


END    OF    PROLOGUE 


43 


THE   STORY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  RAVENGARS  OF  RAVENHALL 

THE  Ravengars  of  Ormsby-on-Sea,  a  town  on  the 
Northumbrian  coast,  come  of  an  ancient  stock ; 
for,  as  students  of  the  Gospel  according  to  St. 
Burke  are  aware,  the  original  Ravengar  antedates  by  two 
centuries  that  Ultima  Thule  of  heraldry,  the  Norman  Con 
quest. 

Yet,  though  so  ancient  a  race,  one,  moreover,  that  has 
taken  part  in  all  the  great  events  of  English  History,  it 
was  not  until  the  days  of  the  Merry  Monarch  that  the 
Ravengars  entered  the  charmed  and  charming  circle  of 
the  peerage. 

At  the  battle  of  Naseby  that  gallant  and  loyal  cavalier, 
Lancelot  Ravengar,  contrived  to  disfigure  the  face  of  the 
great  Protector  by  a  sword-cut  that  left  behind  it  a  scar 
for  life.  So  valuable  a  service  to  the  State  merited  right 
royal  recognition.  "  Something  must  be  done  for  Rav 
engar,"  said  the  courtiers  of  the  Restoration.  That  some 
thing  took  the  shape  of  a  patent  of  nobility,  a  favour  the 
more  readily  granted  by  the  Monarch,  inasmuch  as  it 
cost  him  nothing.  So  the  heretofore  plain  Lancelot  Rav 
engar  became  the  noble  Viscount  Walden,  and  at  a  later 
date  was  advanced  to  the  Earldom  of  Ormsby,  a  title  de 
rived  from  the  Northumbrian  sea-town,  whose  rents  and 
leases  supplied  him  with  the  wealth  requisite  to  maintain 
his  dignity. 

44 


This  Lancelot  Ravengar  deserves  mention,  as  being 
not  only  the  first  peer  of  the  family,  but  likewise  the 
originator  of  a  very  curious  funeral  rite  instituted  by  his 
testamentary  authority. 

When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  in  Charles's  days,  Rav- 
enhall,  the  seat  of  the  Ravengars,  shared  the  fate  of  many 
other  historic*  mansions :  it  was  besieged  by  the  Puritan 
soldiery,  and  notwithstanding  a  gallant  defence,  was  forced 
to  yield  to  the  foe.  Its  owner,  Lancelot,  however,  was 
fortunate  enough  to  escape  to  a  secret  subterranean 
chamber,  specially  made  for  such  emergencies,  where,  in 
addition  to  the  family  heirlooms,  provisions  for  many 
weeks  had  been  stored.  The  Roundheads,  not  finding 
the  Cavalier  after  a  long  and  careful  search,  concluded 
that  he  had  fled. 

For  several  days  the  victors  remained  at  Ravenhall 
feasting  and  drinking ;  and  then,  larder  and  wine  cellar 
failing  them,  they  proceeded  to  plunder  and  dismantle 
the  place  "  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord,"  and  so  took  their 
departure. 

Now,  during  this  period  of  hiding,  Lancelot,  with  no 
companion  but  a  Bible,  had  ample  leisure  for  meditation. 
The  seclusion  became  the  turning-point  in  his  spiritual 
life  :  from  that  time  the  hitherto  careless  Cavalier  devel 
oped  religious  tendencies  which  were  not  to  be  shaken 
by  all  the  gibes  of  the  Merry  Monarch. 

The  place  of  his  conversion  naturally  became  invested 
with  more  than  ordinary  interest  in  the  eyes  of  Lancelot 
Ravengar :  he  spent  much  of  his  time  there  in  contem 
plation  and  prayer,  becoming  at  last  so  attached  to  the 
spot  as  to  desire  it  for  his  place  of  sepulture. 

Accordingly,  his  last  will  and  testament  enjoined  that 
not  only  his  own  body,  but  the  bodies  likewise  of  his 
successors  in  the  earldom  should  be  buried  in  the  secret 
vault.  This  rite  constituted  the  condition  of  an  entail, 

45 


The  Viking's  Skull 

inasmuch  as  neglect  on  the  part  of  the  next  of  kin  to  in 
ter  his  predecessor  in  this  chamber  necessitated  the  for 
feiture  of  the  inheritance.  The  will  furthermore  directed 
that  the  secret  ingress  to  this  crypt  should  not  be  made 
known  to  more  than  four  persons  at  a  time,  viz :  the  then 
earl,  his  heir-apparent,  the  family  lawyer,  and  any  fourth 
person  whom  these  three  should  choose  to  take  into  their 
confidence. 

When  an  Earl  of  Ormsby  died  his  body  was  carried  to 
the  mortuary  chapel  on  the  estate,  where  the  burial 
service  of  the  Anglican  Church  was  read.  The  coffin 
was  then  carried  back  to  Ravenhall :  all  the  servants, 
without  exception,  were  dismissed  for  the  day,  and  the 
four  executors  proceeded  to  remove  the  body  to  the  secret 
crypt. 

Such  was  the  singular  testament  of  Lancelot  Ravengar, 
first  Earl  of  Ormsby,  and  its  injunctions  were  faithfully 
observed  by  all  his  successors  in  the  title. 

Some  years  prior  to  the  events  related  in  the  prologue 
of  this  story,  the  dignity  of  the  family  was  represented 
by  Urien  Ravengar,  the  tenth  peer.  He  was  the  father 
of  Olave,  Viscount  Walden,  who,  as  being  the  only  son, 
and  heir  to  the  title  and  estates,  was  naturally  the  object 
of  his  father's  affection.  The  old  earl  did  not  keep  a 
steward,  being  content  to  leave  his  affairs  in  the  hands 
of  the  young  viscount,  who  consequently  managed  his 
father's  correspondence,  all  letters  addressed  to  the  earl 
being  freely  opened  by  the  son. 

Then  came  a  memorable  day  in  the  annals  of  the  House 
of  Ravengar. 

A  letter  arrived  for  the  Earl  bearing  the  postmark  of  a 
town  in  Kentk  Olave,  who  was  passing  through  the  en 
trance-hall  at  the  time  of  its  delivery,  took  it  from  the 
servant,  and,  following  his  usual  practice  in  regard  to  his 
father's  letters,  opened  it. 

46 


The  Ravengars  of  Ravenhall 

As  he  read  he  was  observed  to  change  colour,  and  to 
become  strangely  agitated. 

Taking  the  letter  with  him  he  went  at  once  to  his 
father's  study. 

What  passed  there  no  one  ever  learned,  save  that  there 
were  high  words  between  the  two.  That  in  itself  was 
nothing  new,  the  Ravengars  being  noted  for  their  proud 
spirit.  In  the  end  the  study-door  was  flung  open  by  the 
earl  who,  with  a  face  flaming  with  anger,  cried :  — 

"  Leave  the  house." 

Olave,  with  a  scornful  glance  at  his  father,  obeyed. 

He  went  forth,  saying  nothing  to  any  one  as  to  the 
cause  of  the  rupture,  making  no  mention  of  his  destina 
tion  or  plans.  Without  a  word  of  farewell  he  disappeared 
from  Ormsby.  To  all  who  had  known  him  he  became 
as  one  dead. 

Every  Sunday  the  earl,  while  at  Ormsby,  attended  the 
parish  church  with  commendable  regularity,  but  vainly 
did  he  try  to  assume  a  brave  air :  it  was  clear  to  all  that 
he  felt  the  loss  of  his  son,  and  that  he  was  aging  in  con 
sequence. 

Five  —  seven  —  ten  years  rolled  away,  and  now  the 
old  earl  lay  dying  in  his  grand  bedchamber  at  Ravenhall. 
A  wild  evening  had  set  in,  and  the  herring-fishers,  on  the 
point  of  sailing  for  the  Dogger  Bank,  put  off  their  expe 
dition  for  more  propitious  weather. 

The  dying  man  moaned  uneasily.  His  mind  was 
wandering,  and  he  frequently  murmured  the  name  of  the 
absent  Olave. 

Louder  and  ever  louder  grew  the  wind,  till  at  length  it 
arose  to  a  gale.  The  gloom  of  night  was  illumined  by 
vivid  lightning-flashes  accompanied  by  peals  of  thunder. 
The  distant  roar  of  the  sea  could  be  plainly  heard  at 
Ravenhall.  News  came  that  a  yacht,  supposed  to  be 
French,  was  foundering  upon  the  rocks  of  Ormsby  Race 

47 


The  Viking's  Skull 

in  full  sight  of  hundreds  of  spectators  on  the  beach,  who 
were  powerless  to  give  help.  None  of  the  servants  at 
Ravenhall,  however,  felt  disposed  to  go  and  view  the 
wreck :  their  master's  death,  which  was  hourly  expected, 
affected  them  far  more  than  the  drowning  of  a  hundred 
strangers.  They  clustered  in  the  entrance-hall,  waiting 
for  the  fatal  news,  and  conversing  in  hushed  tones. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  darkness,  there  stalked  into  the 
entrance-hall  a  lofty  figure,  drenched  to  the  skin,  without 
hat  or  cloak,  his  long  hair  lying  wet  and  lank  on  his  pale 
cheek. 

He  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left,  asked  no  question 
of  the  startled  servants,  but  passed  quickly  up  the  grand 
staircase  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  the  way  was  famil 
iar,  with  the  air  of  one,  too,  who  had  the  right  to  do  as 
he  did.  Like  the  electric  flash,  he  had  come  and  gone  in 
a  moment. 

"  Lord  save  us  ! "  gasped  the  butler,  a  lifelong  servitor 
of  the  family.  "  Here's  Master  Olave  come  back  after  all 
these  years  !  " 

Olave  it  was.  He  had  evidently  received  some  intima 
tion  of  his  father's  condition,  for  he  walked  to  the  bed 
room  where  the  earl  lay  dying.  To  the  three  persons  at 
the  bedside,  physician,  nurse,  and  rector,  he  was  a 
stranger,  but  his  likeness  to  the  patient  was  sufficiently 
striking  to  apprise  them  at  once  of  the  relationship. 

The  viscount,  keeping  in  the  background,  addressed 
himself  to  the  physician. 

"  How  is  he?" 

"  Sinking  fast." 

"  Is  his  mind  clear?  " 

"  Now  it  is.     He  wandered  earlier  in  the  evening." 

"  Then  leave  us,  please." 

There  was  something  so  authoritative  in  the  viscount's 
manner  that  the  three  watchers  were  constrained  to  obey. 

48 


The  Ravengars  of  Ravenhall 

What  took  place  in  their  absence  was  never  known. 
The  interview  was  of  short  duration,  and  ended  in  a  cry 
from  the  earl,  which  brought  physician  and  nurse  hurry 
ing  into  the  apartment. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Olave. 

There  was  no  trace  of  sorrow  in  his  voice,  nor,  in  jus 
tice  be  it  added,  of  satisfaction  :  a  quiet,  impassive  utter 
ance. 

He  stood  with  folded  arms  till  his  words  had  been  en 
dorsed  by  the  physician,  and  then,  without  so  little  as  a 
glance  at  the  dead  earl,  the  living  earl  strode  from  the 
apartment. 

The  nurse  closed  the  eyes  of  her  charge,  shuddering  as 
she  did  so,  for  the  countenance  of  the  dead  man  was 
marked  by  a  ferocity  of  expression  which  showed  that  his 
last  feelings  were  those  of  hatred. 

A  rumour  soon  arose  that  the  old  earl  had  died  in  the 
very  act  of  cursing  his  son.  The  rumour  may  have  been 
false,  but  certain  it  is  that  the  new  earl  took  no  pains  to 
contradict  it. 

Urien,  tenth  Earl  of  Ormsby,  was  interred  according  to 
the  rite  instituted  by  the  first  peer :  and  the  returned 
Olave,  after  giving  the  family  solicitor  sufficient  proof  of 
his  identity,  assumed  his  station  as  master  of  Ravenhall. 

Where  he  had  spent  the  previous  ten  years  was  a  mys 
tery  to  everybody  except,  perhaps,  his  lawyer.  The  earl 
maintained  absolute  reticence  as  to  this  part  of  his  career, 
and  the  sternness  of  his  manner  when  the  question  was 
once  put  to  him  by  an  indiscreet  lady,  checked  all  further 
attempts  on  the  part  of  the  inquisitive. 

He  somewhat  scandalised  the  good  folk  of  Ormsby  by 
marrying  within  two  months  of  his  father's  death  the 
daughter  of  a  neighbouring  baronet.  His  wedded  life  did 
not  last  long.  Within  a  year  his  wife  died,  leaving  an  in 
fant  son  named  Ivar. 

4  49 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Henceforth  the  earl  remained  single. 

He  had  sadly  changed  from  the  lively  youth  whose 
pranks  had  been  a  constant  source  of  merriment  to  the 
people  of  Ormsby. 

His  long  absence  had  developed  a  cold  and  unsympa 
thetic  temperament  which  led  him  to  avoid  society ;  and 
though  he  did  not  refrain  from  giving  an  occasional  din 
ner  or  ball,  he  was  evidently  bored  by  these  social  offices. 
He  found  his  greatest  pleasure  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
magnificent  library  at  Ravenhall.  He  withdrew  himself 
more  and  more  from  the  world  of  men  to  the  world  of 
books. 

More  than  two  decades  went  by,  and  the  mystery 
which  overhung  the  earl,  became  a  thing  of  the  past,  was 
forgotten  by  the  people  of  Ormsby,  or  at  least  was  rarely 
recalled.  Gossip  occupied  itself  chiefly  with  the  doings 
of  the  earl's  only  son,  Ivar,  or  to  give  him  his  courtesy 
title,  Viscount  Walden,  who  was  now  in  his  twentieth 
year. 

To  this  son  the  earl  appeared  much  attached :  he  de 
signed  him,  so  it  was  rumoured,  for  the  diplomatic  ser 
vice  :  and  to  this  end  Ivar,  accompanied  by  a  tutor,  was 
supposed  to  be  travelling  on  the  continent,  perfecting 
himself  in  foreign  languages,  and  studying  on  the 
spot  the  workings  of  the  various  European  constitu 
tions. 

All  the  collateral  branches  of  the  Ravengars  had  died 
out  with  the  exception  of  one  family,  and  even  this  was 
limited  to  a  single  person  —  Beatrice,  daughter  of  Victor 
Ravengar.  This  Victor,  the  earl's  cousin  in  the  sixth 
degree,  had  taken  as  his  wife  a  widow  with  one  son, 
Godfrey  by  name.  Beatrice  was  the  sole  issue  of  this 
marriage. 

The  earl  was  naturally  much  interested  in  this  little 
maiden  as  being  next  in  succession  after  his  son :  and 

50 


The  Ravengars  of  Ravenhall 

accordingly  when  Beatrice  became  an  orphan  at  the  age 
of  sixteen  (her  parents  having  died  within  a  month  of 
each  other),  the  earl  invited  her  and  her  half-brother, 
Godfrey  Rothwell  —  her  senior  by  seven  years — to  take 
up  their  residence  at  Ravenhall,  offering  to  settle  a  hand 
some  annuity  upon  each. 

But  to  the  earl's  surprise  the  favour  was  declined  both 
by  brother  and  sister.  It  had  happened  that  Mrs.  Victor 
Ravengar  had  never  been  a  very  welcome  visitor  at 
Ravenhall,  the  marriage  having  been  regarded  by  the 
earl  as  a  mesalliance  :  and  though  Beatrice  was  of  a  for 
giving  nature,  she  could  not  entirely  forget  sundry  slights 
put  upon  her  mother. 

Godfrey  was  determined  not  to  eat  the  bread  of  de 
pendency,  and  Beatrice,  who  was  devoted  to  her  half- 
brother,  sympathized  with  him  in  this  feeling,  and 
refused  to  live  apart  from  him.  He  had  applied  himself 
to  the  study  of  medicine,  and  had  lately  set  up  in 
practice  at  Ormsby.  In  Beatrice,  Godfrey  found  a  ready 
assistant.  She  helped  him  in  his  surgery,  often  accom 
panied  him  when  visiting  his  patients,  and  never  hesitated 
to  take  upon  herself  the  duty  of  nurse  if  occasion  re 
quired.  Hence  she  was  all  but  worshipped  by  the  people 
of  Ormsby ;  the  earl  might  take  their  rents,  but  Beatrice 
possessed  their  hearts,  and  often  was  regret  expressed 
that  it  should  be  Viscount  Walden,  and  not  Beatrice 
Ravengar,  who  must  succeed  to  the  fair  demesne  of 
Ravenhall. 

"  Absolutely  no  more  patients  to  visit,"  remarked 
Godfrey  Rothwell,  returning  home  one  afternoon  to  his 
neat  little  villa,  called  Wave  Crest. 

"  Charming  !  "  said  Beatrice,  clapping  her  hands.  "  It 
is  so  long  since  we  had  an  evening  together." 

"  Humph  !  "  muttered  Godfrey,  lugubriously.  "  But 
we  are  doomed  not  to  spend  it  together.  We  have  re- 


The  Viking's  Skull 

ceived  an  invitation  to  dine  this  evening  at  Ravenhall, 
where  a  small  and  select  company  is  assembling  to  wel 
come  Master  Ivar  home.  He  returns  to-night  from  the 
continent.  The  earl's  carriage  will  call  for  us  at  six,  so 
we  can't  very  well  decline." 

Beatrice  pouted  her  pretty  lips.  Simple  in  her  tastes, 
unconventional  in  her  habits,  she  disliked  the  stately 
banquets,  the  funereal  grandeur,  of  Ravenhall.  She 
would  not,  however,  oppose  her  brother,  and  that  same 
night  found  them  both  within  the  drawing-room  of 
Ravenhall,  conversing  with  their  distant  kinsman,  the 
Earl  of  Ormsby. 

He  was  a  man  verging  upon  sixty ;  his  hair  and 
moustache  were  of  an  iron  grey;  his  eyes  somewhat 
dimmed  by  long  study;  his  features  fine  and  striking, 
but  marked  by  an  air  of  profound  melancholy. 

He  received  Godfrey  kindly,  and  made  inquiries  as  to 
his  medical  practice,  but  it  was  clear  to  all  that  his 
interest  centred  chiefly  in  Beatrice,  whom  he  kissed  with 
an  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

Beatrice's  figure  was  small  and  graceful,  and  her 
features,  if  not  precisely  regular,  were  nevertheless  very 
pretty,  and  rendered  more  attractive  by  the  sparkling 
colour  and  the  vivacious  expression  that  played  over 
them.  She  wore  an  evening  dress  of  white  silk  with  a 
cluster  of  violets  at  her  breast,  a  diamond  star  gleaming 
in  her  bronzed  hair,  which  was  tied  in  a  knot  behind 
in  antique  Greek  fashion.  In  Godfrey's  opinion  his 
sister  had  never  looked  more  charming  than  on  this 
evening. 

"  You  have  the  fairest  face  in  all  the  county,"  said  the 
old  earl,  tenderly  stroking  her  hair.  "  I  wish  that  Ivar 
would  think  so,"  he  added  significantly. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  given  expression 
to  this  wish  in  the  presence  of  Beatrice. 

52 


The  Ravengars  of  Ravenhall 

"  Did  you  notice  what  he  said,  Trixie,"  said  Godfrey, 
when  he  had  found  an  opportunity  of  whispering  to  her. 
"  He  wants  to  see  you  married  to  Ivar." 

But  Beatrice  Ravengar  tossed  her  head  in  scorn. 

"  No  one  who  has  sneered  at  you,  as  Ivar  has,  shall 
ever  be  husband  of  mine,  though  he  bring  with  him  title 
and  lands.  It  will  require  some  one  a  good  deal  better 
than  Ivar  to  separate  you  and  me,  Godfrey,"  she  said, 
pressing  his  arm  affectionately. 

Godfrey  felt  justly  proud  of  his  sister's  attachment. 
How  many  women,  he  thought,  would  willingly  have 
thrown  over  a  poor  struggling  medico  of  a  brother,  and 
have  become  wild  with  joy  at  the  idea  of  obtaining  a 
coronet  and  the  stately  towers  of  Ravenhall  ? 

Godfrey  wondered,  and  not  for  the  first  time,  why  the 
earl  should  desire  this  match,  since  Beatrice  was  portion 
less,  and,  therefore,  from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  no 
very  desirable  alliance  for  the  heir  of  the  Ravengars. 
Godfrey  had  never  quite  taken  to  the  earl :  in  fact,  he 
had  a  secret  distrust  of  him,  he  could  not  tell  why  :  and 
he  refused  to  believe  that  that  peer's  attitude  towards  Bea 
trice  was  dictated  by  pure  disinterestedness,  though  it 
was  difficult  to  see  how  either  the  earl  or  Ivar  would  be 
advantaged  by  the  match. 

While  Godfrey  was  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  the 
butler  appeared  with  the  message  that  the  keeper  of  the 
lodge  had  announced  by  telephone  the  arrival  of  the 
viscount's  carriage  at  the  park-gates. 

"  Let  us  give  the  heir  of  Ravenhall  a  welcome  at  his 
own  portal,"  said  Lord  Ormsby,  rising ;  and  without  de 
lay  the  company  made  their  way  to  the  grand  entrance- 
hall,  where  the  butler,  the  housekeeper,  and  the  rest  of 
the  servants,  were  assembled  to  do  honour  to  the  young 
viscount's  return. 

On  the  panelled  wall  within  the  Gothic  doorway,  and 

53 


The  Viking's  Skull 

suspended  by  a  silver  chain,  was  a  bugle  of  ivory,  wrought 
with  gold,  and  decorated  with  runic  letters. 

It  was  a  relic  of  ancient  days,  credited  to  have  be 
longed  originally  to  the  old  Norse  chieftain  who  had 
founded  the  House  of  Ravengar.  Owing  to  the  peculiar 
construction  of  this  bugle  some  practice  was  required  by 
those  desirous  of  blowing  it.  Indeed,  it  was  a  family 
tradition  that  in  former  times  the  only  persons  gifted 
with  the  power  of  sounding  it  were  the  lord  of  Raven- 
hall  and  his  immediate  heir,  all  others  essaying  the  feat 
being  foredoomed  to  failure.  Hence,  in  mediaeval  times, 
when  the  lords  of  Ravenhall  returned  from  a  Crusade,  or 
some  other  equally  protracted  war,  it  was  their  practice 
to  sound  this  horn  as  a  guarantee  of  the  legitimacy  of 
their  title. 

"  We  will  greet  the  heir  in  the  ancient  fashion  of  our 
house,"  cried  the  earl,  a  great  upholder  of  the  traditional 
usages  of  his  family.  "  Pass  me  the  bugle.  Jocelyn,  the 
wine ! " 

The  butler,  who  was  standing  by,  holding  a  silver  tray 
with  a  decanter  on  it,  poured  some  port  into  the  broad 
funnel-shaped  end  of  the  horn,  the  tight-fitting  silver  cap 
over  the  mouthpiece  preventing  the  emission  of  the 
liquid. 

"  Custom  enjoins  that  a  lady  should  hand  the  bugle  to 
the  returning  heir,  and  wish  him  welcome,"  said  Lord 
Ormsby,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Beatrice. 

With  some  reluctance  she  accepted  the  bugle  from  the 
hand  of  the  earl,  who  briefly  instructed  her  —  Beatrice  be 
ing  not  very  well  versed  in  the  Ravengar  traditions  —  as 
to  the  form  of  words  to  be  used  in  this  ceremony. 

The  rattle  of  wheels  was  now  heard  coming  along  the 
avenue  of  chestnuts,  and  amid  murmurs  of  "  Here  he 
is  ! "  from  those  assembled  at  the  porch,  a  brougham 
rolled  up.  When  it  had  stopped,  there  alighted  a  figure, 

54 


The  Ravengars  of  Ravenhall 

fair,  slight,  and,  though  youthful,  of  decidedly  blase  ap 
pearance.  He  was  dressed  in  a  light  travelling  ulster,  and 
held  a  cigar  between  his  fingers,  throwing  it  away,  how 
ever,  as  soon  as  he  beheld  the  company. 

"  Welcome,  Ivar,"  said  the  earl,  warmly  returning  the 
clasp  of  his  son's  hand :  and  then,  waving  him  towards 
Beatrice,  he  continued,  "  But  one  moment :  we  must  not 
neglect  the  ancient  custom  of  our  house.  Now,  Beatrice, 
you  know  the  words." 

And  Beatrice,  holding  aloft  the  horn  of  wine,  in  an  at 
titude  that  displayed  all  the  grace  of  her  figure,  ap 
proached  the  young  viscount. 

"  Is  it  peace,  O  heir  of  Ravenhall  ?  " 

"  It  is  peace,  O  lady  fair,"  replied  the  viscount,  using 
the  words  of  the  traditional  formula. 

"  Then  drink  of  thine  own,  O  heir  of  Ravenhall,"  con 
tinued  Beatrice,  extending  the  bugle  to  him. 

"  To  the  souls  of  the  departed  warriors,"  replied  Ivar, 
tossing  off  the  contents  at  one  draught.  "  Hum  !  port. 
Very  good  liquor  for  boys  ;  but,  I  confess,  I  like  my 
aliquid  amari  stronger." 

This  last  sentence  formed  no  part  of  the  Ravengar 
ritual,  and  the  earl,  who  liked  everything  en  regie,  frowned 
slightly. 

"  Now  prove  thy  title,  heir  of  Ravenhall." 

"  Prove  it  ?  Ay,  with  a  blast  that  shall  rival  that  of 
the  immortal  Roland." 

Removing  the  silver  cap  from  the  narrow  end  of  the 
bugle,  and  placing  the  mouthpiece  to  his  lips,  Ivar  blew 
with  all  his  might.  But  no  sound  issued  from  the  horn 
other  than  that  of  a  faint  soughing.  The  viscount,  sur 
prised  at  this  result,  removed  the  bugle  from  his  mouth, 
and  eyed  it  curiously.  Then,  thinking  he  had  perhaps 
employed  too  much  force,  be  blew  again,  but  this  time 
more  gently. 

55 


The  Viking's  Skull 

The  bugle  continued  silent.  The  company  looked  at 
each  other  in  surprise,  tinged  with  amusement.  The 
earl,  however,  seemed  to  take  it  much  amiss.  Beatrice 
found  his  eyes  set  upon  her,  and  upon  her  only,  with  a 
look  that  made  her  feel  uncomfortable,  for  it  somehow 
conveyed  to  her  mind  the  idea  that  he  was  mentally 
blaming  her  for  his  son's  failure  ! 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  matter,  you  know,"  said  the 
viscount,  looking  round  upon  the  company  with  an  air 
of  mock  gravity.  "  The  ancestral  bugle  refuses  —  posi 
tively  refuses  —  to  acknowledge  me  as  the  heir  of  Raven- 
hall." 

"  Try  again,  Ivar,"  said  the  earl. 

"  Not  I.  Devil  take  the  bugle,"  exclaimed  Ivar  laugh 
ing.  "  Let  us  read  a  parable  in  my  failure.  In  days  of 
old  the  blast  of  the  horn  was  the  sign  of  battle;  its 
silence  implies  that  we  Ravengars  have  no  longer  to 
vindicate  our  title  by  arms.  But  it  permits  me  to  drink, 
thereby  symbolizing  that  peace  and  festivity  are  now  to 
be  our  lot.  Have  I  not  said  ?  "  he  added,  theatrically, 
turning  to  his  father.  "  And  now,  this  fantasia  being 
over—  Why?  what?  is  this  little  Trixie?" 

Till  that  moment  he  had  not  recognized  Beatrice,  so 
much  did  she  differ  from  her  appearance  when  last  seen 
by  him;  but  now  that  recognition  came,  he  stopped 
short  in  surprise  at  her  loveliness. 

"  Trixie  !  "  he  repeated. 

He  bent  forward  as  if  to  kiss  her,  but,  with  quiet  dig 
nity,  Beatrice  drew  back,  offering  her  hand. 

"  What,  and  must  we  dispense  with  the  sweet  greeting 
of  old  days  ?  Nay,  then." 

And  with  this  he  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed 
his  lips  to  hers  in  kisses  of  a  distinctly  vinous  flavour. 

"  How  dare  you  ? "  exclaimed  Beatrice,  breaking 
breathlessly  and  indignantly  from  his  embrace. 

56 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   MYSTERY   OF   THE   RELIQUARY 

IVAR,  with  a  laugh  at  Beatrice's  indignation,  turned 
his  attention  to  the  brougham,  apparently  with  a 
view  of  superintending  the  removal  of  his  impedi 
menta. 

"  O,  never  mind  your  luggage,"  said  the  earl,  in  some 
surprise.  "  Jocelyn  will  see  to  that." 

But  Ivar,  ignoring  the  suggestion,  was  concentrating 
all  his  care  upon  what  seemed  to  be  a  long  box  wrapped 
in  a  covering  of  coarse  linen.  This  a  footman  was  bring 
ing  into  the  hall  upon  his  shoulders,  and  while  giving  his 
burden  a  jerk  to  place  it  in  a  position  more  easy  for 
carrying,  the  cloth,  by  some  mischance,  became  partly 
ripped  open. 

A  half-smothered  exclamation  and  an  angry  glance  at 
the  awkward  footman  were  eloquently  expressive  of 
Ivar's  annoyance. 

"  Eh  !  what  have  we  here?"  said  the  earl,  motioning 
the  bearer  to  lay  down  his  burden. 

He  removed  the  cloth,  and  all  crowded  round  to  ad 
mire  the  richness  and  beauty  of  the  object  thus  revealed 
to  view.  It  was  a  chest  of  black  wood  bound  at  the 
corners  with  silver.  The  lid  and  sides  were  divided  into 
compartments,  carved  with  alto-relievos  of  a  decidedly 
ecclesiastical  character. 

"  This  is  a  very  fine  work  of  art,"  said  Lord  Ormsby, 
who  was  somewhat  of  an  authority  on  antiquities.  Put 
ting  on  his  pince-nez  he  stooped  to  examine  the  chest 
more  closely.  "  French,  I  should  judge,  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  What  wood  is  it  ?  " 

57 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Cypress." 

Godfrey  did  not  fail  to  notice  Ivar's  somewhat  sullen 
intonation. 

"And  the  cypress,"  remarked  the  earl,  "  is  the  em 
blem  of  death.  This  chest  is  evidently  one  of  those 
shrines  in  which  mediaeval  folk  put  the  relics  of  their 
saints." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  reliquary." 

"  How  did  you  become  its  possessor  ? " 

"  I  bought  it  from  the  sacristan  of  an  old  church  in 
Brittany.  Whence  he  obtained  it  is  perhaps  easy  to 
guess.  Naturally  I  refrained  from  questioning  him  too 
closely." 

Lord  Ormsby  shot  a  curious  glance  at  his  son. 

"  O,  did  you  extend  your  tour  to  Brittany,  then  ?  "  he 
observed :  after  which  he  refrained  from  further  remarks, 
becoming  silent  and  thoughtful,  as  if  his  mind  had  been 
stirred  by  some  troubling  reminiscence. 

"Does  it  still  contain  the  bones  of  the  saint?"  asked 
Godfrey,  jocularly. 

"It  contains  souvenirs  of  my  continental  tour  —  noth 
ing  more,"  replied  Ivar  with  a  dark  glance,  as  if  inviting 
the  surgeon  to  mind  his  own  business. 

And  then,  apparently  impatient  of  further  questions, 
he  cut  the  matter  short  by  motioning  the  man  to  take  up 
the  chest  again,  and  he  himself  led  the  way  up  the  grand 
staircase  to  his  own  bedroom,  where,  after  seeing  the 
precious  reliquary  locked  within  a  wardrobe,  he  seemed 
to  be  more  at  ease. 

The  irritation  betrayed  by  Ivar  over  this  incident 
puzzled  Beatrice,  and  left  a  somewhat  disagreeable  im 
pression  upon  her  mind. 

"  Master  Ivar,"  she  whispered  to  her  brother,  "  was 
trying  to  smuggle  that  chest  into  Ravenhall.  Why 
should  he  desire  to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  is  bringing 

58 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

home  a  reliquary  ?  Depend  upon  it,  the  chest  contains 
something  that  he  does  not  wish  his  father  to  see.  What 
can  it  be  ?  " 

During  the  course  of  the  dinner  that  followed,  Ivar 
was  the  principal  speaker,  rattling  off  various  incidents 
of  his  continental  tour. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  edifying  or  brilliant  in 
these  reminiscences,  but  Lord  Ormsby  evidently  thought 
otherwise :  for,  from  time  to  time  he  would  turn  to  his 
guests  with  an  air  of  pride,  as  if  inviting  them  to  take 
note  of  his  son's  remarks. 

"  That  is  one  good  trait  in  the  earl's  character,"  thought 
Beatrice.  "  He  has  great  affection  for  his  son.  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  the  son  deserves  it." 

When,  at  a  late  hour,  she  and  her  brother  rose  to  take 
their  departure,  so  heavy  a  storm  was  raging  that  the 
earl  pressed  them  to  stay  for  the  night,  and  to  this  ar 
rangement  Godfrey  and  his  sister  assented,  the  former 
little  foreseeing  that  his  stay  would  have  a  remarkable 
bearing  on  the  events  of  the  future. 

"  Well,  Ivar,"  said  the  earl,  when  the  two  found  them 
selves  alone.  "  What  do  you  think  of  Beatrice  ?  " 

"  She  has  grown  devilishly  handsome." 

"  She  is  a  girl  whom  any  man  might  be  proud  to 
marry." 

Ivar  was  resting  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  his  face 
was  hidden  in  shadow :  therefore  the  earl  did  not  perceive 
the  sudden  change  in  his  son's  expression. 

"  Marry  ?  "  echoed  the  viscount. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  married,  Ivar,  and  to  no  one  but 
Beatrice." 

"  The  devil ! "  muttered  Ivar  uneasily ;  and  then, 
aloud,  he  added,  "  Does  Trixie  know  of  this  wish  of 
yours?" 

"  I  have  occasionally  hinted  at  it." 

59 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Her  manner  towards  me  to-night  can  scarcely  be 
called  encouraging.  She  was  decidedly  cold  and  stand 
offish." 

"  Perseverance  on  your  part  will  soon  overcome  her 
indifference." 

"  If  I  must  take  a  wife,  why  must  she  be  cousin 
Trixie,  seeing  that  she  hasn't  a  penny  to  bless  herself 
with  ?  " 

"  She  is  richer  than  you  or  I,"  said  the  earl,  with  a  dry 
laugh.  "  Ivar,  I  am  about  to  tell  you  a  secret,  the  knowl 
edge  of  which  will  soon  cause  you  to  waive  your  objec 
tion —  if  you  have  any  —  to  this  match." 

"  Richer  than  I,"  thought  Ivar.  "  What  does  the  old 
fool  mean  ?  " 

The  earl  seemed  ill  at  ease.  He  remained  silent  for 
several  minutes,  evidently  debating  within  himself  as  to 
the  wisdom  of  disclosing  the  secret.  At  last,  after  glanc 
ing  all  around  the  apartment,  as  if  to  make  certain  that 
no  one  was  within  hearing,  he  bent  forward  in  his  chair 
towards  Ivar,  and  began  to  speak  in  a  low  tone.  The 
communication  took  a  long  time  in  the  telling,  and  when 
it  was  ended,  the  viscount  sat  in  silence  with  a  look  of 
consternation  on  his  face. 

Recovering  from  his  amazement  he  muttered  hoarsely, 
"  Why  have  you  not  told  me  of  this  before  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  of  an  age  to  hear  it.  You  are  old 
enough  now  to  understand  the  virtues  of  silence  and 
secrecy." 

"  And  this,  this  son  —  what  did  you  call  him,  Idris  ?  — 
where  is  he  now  ?  " 

For  reply  Lord  Ormsby  produced  from  the  bookcase 
a  copy  of  the  Times  newspaper,  dated  seven  years  pre 
viously. 

One  of  its  columns  was  headed,  "  Terrible  fire  at  Paris. 
Burning  of  the  Hotel  de  r  Univers"     The  earl's  fore- 
Co 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

finger,  moving  down  a  list  of  victims,  stopped  at  the 
name,  "  Idris  Marville,  aged  23." 

Ivar's  features  relaxed  something  of  their  dismay. 

"  Satisfactory  from  my  point  of  view,"  he  muttered. 

"  None  but  you  and  I  know  this  secret,  but  it  is  per 
petually  open  to  discovery  as  long  as  that  church  and  its 
records  exist.  You  now  see  the  necessity  for  this  match 
with  Beatrice.  Ravenhall  and  the  coronet  are  really 
hers.  Marry  her  then,  and  you  will  thus  secure  your 
position  as  lord  of  Ravenhall.  —  What  is  your  answer  ?  " 

"  Humph  !     Suppose  it'll  have  to  be." 

The  sullen  look  on  Ivar's  face  caused  his  father  to  ele 
vate  his  eyebrows  in  surprise.  It  certainly  did  seem 
strange  that  the  viscount,  who  had  pronounced  Beatrice 
to  be  "  devilishly  handsome,"  should  evince  dissatisfaction 

at  the  prospect  of  marrying  her  ! 

#  #  #  #  #  # 

The  sleeping  apartment  allotted  to  Godfrey  Rothwell 
contained  the  most  luxurious  bed  he  had  ever  occupied, 
and  he  speedily  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  he 
was  abruptly  roused  by  a  noise  in  the  corridor  outside 
his  bedroom  door. 

He  sat  up  and  listened.  Before  stepping  into  bed  he 
had  switched  off  the  electric  light,  but  the  darkness  now 
became  faintly  illumined  by  a  horizontal  line  of  light  ap 
pearing  at  the  foot  of  the  door.  Its  origin  was  obvious  : 
some  one  was  walking  in  the  corridor  and  bearing  a 
lamp  or  candle. 

The  line  of  light  had  no  sooner  appeared  than  it  disap 
peared,  showing  that  the  person  had  passed  by. 

Moved  by  the  thought  that  it  might  be  a  burglar, 
Godfrey  stepped  quietly  from  his  bed,  and  cautiously 
opening  the  door  to  the  extent  of  a  few  inches,  peeped 
out. 

There,  a  few  feet  distant,  with  his  back  towards  him, 

61 


The  Viking's  Skull 

was  Viscount  Walden  moving  quietly  along  the  corridor. 
Evidently  he  had  not  been  to  bed,  for  he  was  still  wear 
ing  the  dress  suit  he  had  worn  at  dinner :  to  it  he  had 
added  a  hard  felt  hat,  into  the  brim  of  which  there  was 
stuck  a  lighted  candle,  after  the  fashion  of  a  Cornish 
miner. 

With  both  hands  he  was  half-dragging,  half-carrying 
the  cypress  chest  about  which  he  had  displayed  so  much 
concern.  It  was  the  accidental  fall  of  this  reliquary  that 
had  roused  Godfrey  from  sleep. 

Now,  when  a  young  man  is  detected  in  the  dead  of 
night  stealing  along  with  a  reliquary  that  he  has  tried  to 
introduce  surreptitiously  into  his  father's  house,  it  may 
be  inferred  that  he  is  actuated  by  a  bad  motive  ;  such,  at 
least,  was  Godfrey's  inference.  Accordingly,  though 
conscious  of  the  meanness  of  espionage,  yet,  moved  by  a 
feeling  for  which  he  could  not  account,  he  resolved  to 
follow  the  viscount,  and  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  mean 
ing  of  this  strange  proceeding. 

Waiting  till  Ivar  had  turned  a  corner  of  the  corridor, 
Godfrey,  having  hurriedly  slipped  into  his  clothes,  stole 
forth  in  his  stockinged  feet  and  followed  at  a  distance, 
lurking  within  the  shadows,  and  exercising  the  utmost 
vigilance  to  prevent  himself  from  being  seen.  Fortu 
nately,  there  were  at  intervals,  various  pieces  of  furniture, 
as  well  as  curtains  and  recesses,  of  all  which  Godfrey  took 
prompt  advantage  whenever  Ivar  seemed  on  the  point 
of  giving  a  backward  glance. 

The  viscount's  course,  after  he  had  left  the  corridor  in 
which  the  bedrooms  were  situated,  conducted  him  down 
a  staircase  and  along  a  second  corridor,  this  latter  ter 
minating  at  the  door  of  the  Picture  Gallery.  Here  he 
paused,  and  sat  down  upon  the  box  to  rest  himself.  He 
was  no  athlete,  and  the  moving  of  this  heavy  chest  was 
a  tax  upon  his  strength. 

62 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

By  the  grim  and  dismal  circle  of  light  shed  around  by 
the  taper  in  Ivar's  hat  Godfrey  could  see  that  the  vis 
count's  face  was  pale  and  marked  by  an  expression  of 
fear,  and  that  he  gave  a  start  at  the  sudden  coughing  of 
the  night  wind  among  the  trees  without. 

Some  of  the  fear  manifested  by  him  seemed  to  pass 
over  to  Godfrey,  who  found  himself  becoming  strangely 
suspicious  as  to  the  contents  of  the  chest.  The  secrecy 
observed  by  the  viscount  was  extremely  suggestive  of  the 
theory  of  crime.  Was  the  reliquary  the  receptacle  of 
guilty  evidence  which  Ivar,  unable  to  dispose  of  else 
where,  was  bringing  to  Ravenhall  as  the  safest  place  of 
concealment  ? 

The  reliquary  itself,  apart  altogether  from  the  consid 
eration  of  its  contents,  had  something  gruesome  about  it. 
Though  the  exterior  carvings  were  mediaeval  in  char 
acter,  Godfrey,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  connoisseur  on 
wood,  had  felt,  when  surveying  the  chest  at  the  entrance- 
hall,  that  it  was  far  more  ancient  than  the  middle  ages  : 
with  that  durability  peculiar  to  cypress  wood,  the  chest 
might  have  seen  the  classic  days  of  Greece :  differing  lit 
tle  in  shape  from  an  Egyptian  mummy-case,  it  might 
have  held  the  embalmed  remains  of  a  Rameses :  nay,  its 
antiquity  perhaps  antedated  the  very  Pyramids  them 
selves  ! 

He  had  ample  leisure  for  these  reflections,  for  the  vis 
count,  having  once  seated  himself,  seemed  loth  to  move 
forward  again. 

At  last,  pulling  out  a  spirit  flask,  Ivar  took  a  deep 
draught,  and,  rising  to  his  feet,  produced  a  key  with 
which  he  unlocked  the  door  of  the  Picture  Gallery. 

Then,  lifting  the  reliquary  by  means  of  a  silver  ring 
affixed  to  the  lid,  he  proceeded  to  traverse  the  entire 
length  of  the  hall,  dragging  his  burden  with  him. 

Godfrey,  who  was  no  stranger  to  the  place,  surmised 

63 


The  Viking's  Skull 

that  the  viscount's  journey  was  almost  at  an  end,  since 
the  gallery  terminated  in  a  room  from  which  Ivar  would 
have  no  egress,  except  by  the  same  door  that  he  was  now 
approaching. 

The  viscount's  first  act  on  entering  the  room  was  to 
close  the  door.  Upon  this  Godfrey  glided  swiftly  for 
ward,  and  falling  upon  one  knee,  endeavoured  to  obtain 
a  glimpse  of  the  interior  by  applying  his  eye  to  the  key 
hole.  In  this  he  was  thwarted  by  the  key  in  the  lock, 
and  though  the  key  was  on  his  side  of  the  door,  he  hesi 
tated  to  remove  it,  lest  the  sound  should  attract  Ivar's 
attention. 

Godfrey  could  detect  no  light  within  the  chamber,  and 
therefore  he  assumed  that  Ivar  must  have  extinguished 
his  taper. 

Why? 

Godfrey  placed  his  ear  to  the  door.  No  sound  came 
from  within.  If  the  room  contained  an  occupant,  that 
occupant  was  motionless,  or,  if  moving,  was  moving 
silently  and  in  the  dark. 

Then  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  Ivar 
had  quitted  the  chamber  by  a  secret  exit  known  only  to 
himself. 

Godfrey  grew  perplexed,  impatient.  In  standing  thus 
inactive  he  was  losing  the  chance  of  discovering  the 
viscount's  secret.  Still,  Ivar  might  be  within,  and  the 
surgeon  deemed  it  imprudent  to  push  open  the  door. 

A  way  of  solving  the  difficulty  presented  itself.  He 
suddenly  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  clicking  it  loudly, 
to  the  end  that,  if  Ivar  were  really  within,  he  could  not 
fail  to  learn  that  he  was  now  a  prisoner. 

Godfrey  listened.  There  was  no  cry  of  surprise :  no 
hasty  rush  of  feet  to  the  door :  no  movement  at  all. 
After  waiting  a  few  moments,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  room  was  untenanted. 

64 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

He  turned  the  key,  and  pushed  open  the  door. 

Aided  by  a  subdued  light,  tender  and  dreamy,  that 
stole  through  a  latticed  casement,  he  had  visible  proof 
that  the  chamber  was  devoid  of  anything  in  human  shape. 
The  cypress  chest  had  also  vanished. 

No  way  of  egress  was  visible  save  by  the  window ;  but 
Ivar  had  not  made  his  exit  by  this,  as  the  state  of  its 
fastenings  clearly  showed.  His  disappearance  was  obvi 
ously  due  to  the  existence  of  some  secret  passage. 

Godfrey,  loth  to  turn  back  now  that  he  had  come  thus 
far,  resolved  to  make  an  examination  of  the  room,  even 
at  the  risk  of  being  discovered  by  the  returning  Ivar. 

He  began  his  search  with  the  fireplace. 

Surely  some  propitious  fairy  was  directing  his  steps  ! 
A  long  slab  of  stone,  that  formed  one  side  of  the  fire 
place,  had  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  hearth,  revealing  a 
passage  behind.  This  slab  was  worked  by  a  pulley,  since 
he  could  feel  at  each  side  the  ropes  by  which  it  had  been 
lowered ;  but  without  stopping  to  examine  the  mechan 
ism,  he  entered  the  passage  and  moved  forwards  through 
the  darkness,  exploring  the  way  before  him  both  with 
hand  and  foot  in  order  to  guard  against  a  possible  pre 
cipitation  down  a  flight  of  stairs.  The  sequel  justified 
this  precaution,  for  he  soon  found  himself  at  the  head  of 
a  flight  of  stone  steps.  He  counted  forty  of  them  before 
he  reached  the  level  flooring  of  another  passage.  At 
the  end  of  this  a  faint  light  could  be  seen  proceeding 
from  behind  a  door  that  stood  ajar.  He  concluded  that 
the  viscount  had  at  last  attained  his  destination,  and  was 
occupied  on  the  task,  whatever  it  was,  that  had  brought 
him  there. 

Godfrey,  drawing  near,  ventured  to  take  a  peep  through 

the  partly-opened  door,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  large 

stone  chamber,  octagonal  in  shape.     From  its  vaulted 

roof  hung  a  lighted  sconce.     No  window  was  visible, 

5  65 


The  Viking's  Skull 

and,  connecting  this  circumstance  with  the  number  of 
stairs  he  had  descended,  Godfrey  was  of  opinion  that  it 
was  a  subterranean  chamber.  The  floor  was  devoid  of 
carpet,  and  the  only  pieces  of  furniture  were  a  table 
of  carved  oak  and  four  antique  chairs  of  the  same 
material. 

Of  the  eight  sides  of  the  chamber  one  was  occupied  by 
the  doorway  where  Godfrey  stood  :  the  other  seven  were 
severally  pierced  by  recesses,  the  depth  of  which  he  was 
unable  to  ascertain,  since  the  entrance  of  each  was  hung 
with  a  curtain  of  black  velvet  of  such  length  that  the 
silver  lace  fringing  its  foot  touched  the  floor.  The  cur 
tains  draping  two  of  the  alcoves  were  plain  :  the  remain 
ing  five  were  adorned  with  lettering  worked  in  silver 
thread.  As  he  read  the  lettering  by  the  light  of  the 
flame  that  burned  in  the  antique  sconce  Godfrey,  fa 
miliar  though  he  was  with  death,  dissection,  and  all  that 
the  non-medical  mind  regards  as  gruesome,  could  not  re 
press  some  uneasy  sensations.  That  silver  lettering 
recorded  the  names  and  titles  of  the  deceased  Earls  of 
Ormsby,  from  Lancelot  Ravengar,  the  first  peer,  to  Urien 
Ravengar,  the  tenth. 

Godfrey  knew  himself  to  be  on  forbidden  ground.  He 
was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  secret  burial  vault 
of  the  lords  of  Ravenhall ! 

Ivar  was  in  one  of  the  alcoves,  whither  he  had  be 
taken  himself  with  the  cypress  chest,  but  as  the  curtain  con 
cealed  him  from  view,  it  was  impossible  for  Godfrey  to 
see  what  the  viscount  was  doing.  What  Godfrey  heard, 
however,  was  sufficiently  alarming.  From  the  recess 
came  a  recurrence  of  sounds  that  could  be  attributed 
only  to  the  use  of  a  screw-driver.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  that  Ivar  was  engaged  in  the  work  of  removing  one 
of  the  coffin  lids,  and  Godfrey  felt,  moreover,  that  this  act 
had  some  connection  with  the  contents  of  the  reliquary. 

66 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

Was  Ivar  about  to  transfer  the  evidences  of  his  guilt  — 
for  of  his  guilt  Godfrey  now  entertained  no  doubt  —  from 
the  reliquary  to  one  of  the  coffins  ?  There  could  scarcely 
be  a  safer  place  of  concealment  than  a  coffin  contained 
in  a  secret  vault,  the  entrance  of  which  was  known  to 
four  persons  only.  Yet  this  theory  seemed  precluded  by 
the  fact  that  a  coffin  constructed  to  hold  one  body  would 
not  suffice  for  two.  Ivar  could  scarcely  intend  to  carry 
off  from  the  crypt  the  relics  of  one  of  his  ancestors,  since 
he  would  have  the  same  difficulty  in  disposing  of  a  dead 
earl  as  of  less  distinguished  remains. 

Suddenly  there  came  from  Ivar  a  cry,  or  rather  a  yell ; 
he  dropped  the  screw-driver,  or  whatever  tool  he  was 
using,  and  thrusting  aside  the  black  velvet  curtain,  stag 
gered  into  the  vault  and  tumbled  into  a  chair,  where  he 
sat  for  some  moments,  his  eyes  fixed  in  terror  upon  the 
alcove  from  which  he  had  emerged. 

"  Bah  !  "  he  presently  muttered.  "  What  a  fool  I  am  ! 
Yet  I  could  swear  I  heard  a  whisper  coming  from  the 
coffin.  By  God  !  what  creepy  work  this  is !  " 

A  long  pull  at  the  spirit  flask  seemed  to  infuse  new 
courage  into  him.  He  arose  and  moved  again  towards 
the  alcove,  though  with  somewhat  slow  steps. 

As  Ivar  lifted  the  curtain  Godfrey  tried  to  ascertain 
what  lay  behind,  but  succeeded  only  in  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  reliquary,  which  stood  on  the  floor  with  the  taper- 
lit  hat  resting  upon  it. 

The  viscount  picked  up  the  fallen  tool  and  resumed 
the  task  of  screw-loosing.  Then,  after  what  seemed  an 
age  to  the  waiting  surgeon,  the  screw-driver  was  dropped, 
and  Godfrey  became  aware  that  Ivar  had  removed  the 
coffin-lid,  for  he  had  placed  it  on  the  floor  in  such  a  man 
ner  that  one  end  of  it  projected  beneath  the  curtain  and 
appeared  in  the  vault. 

Godfrey  was  unable  to  tell  what  followed.  Ivar's  work, 

67 


The  Viking's  Skull 

whatever  its  character,  was  performed  in  silence,  and 
lasted  a  considerable  time. 

More  than  once  Godfrey  stole  into  the  vault  for  the 
purpose  of  peering  behind  the  curtain,  but  on  each  occa 
sion  he  did  not  get  beyond  the  table,  the  fear  of  detec 
tion  restraining  him  from  proceeding  farther. 

Then,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  took  out  his 
penknife,  and  turning  to  the  alcove  nearest  the  door,  he 
quickly  and  silently  cut  off  a  corner  from  the  velvet 
drapery. 

"  This  may  be  of  service,"  he  thought,  thrusting  the 
fragment  inside  his  pocket,  "  if  at  any  time  it  should  be 
come  necessary  to  prove  that  I  have  stood  in  the  secret 
funeral  vault  of  the  Ravengars." 

Ivar's  task  was  evidently  coming  to  an  end,  for  the 
coffin-lid  was  now  drawn  from  beneath  the  curtain  into 
the  alcove,  and  the  peculiar  sounds  caused  by  the  appli 
cation  of  the  screw-driver  recommenced. 

With  their  cessation  Ivar  reappeared  from  behind  the 
curtain,  wearing  his  taper-lit  hat  again,  and  dragging  the 
chest,  which,  judged  by  the  effort  required  for  its  re 
moval,  was  in  no  way  diminished  from  its  former  weight 
—  a  circumstance  which  puzzled  Godfrey  not  a  little. 

He  was  preparing  for  flight,  but  as  Ivar  had  seated 
himself  in  the  chair  again,  he  was  tempted  to  linger  a 
moment. 

"  Thank  the  devil  that's  over,"  said  the  viscount  in  a 
tone  of  satisfaction,  "  and  I  hope  Lorelie  will  be  satisfied." 

"  Lorelie!  "  murmured  Godfrey  with  a  start.  "  Lorelie  ! 
Surely  he  does  not  mean  Mademoiselle  Riviere  ?  " 

He  had  no  time  just  then  to  consider  this  question,  for 
Ivar,  having  drained  the  few  drops  that  remained  in  the 
flask,  was  now  extinguishing  the  flame  in  the  sconce, 
preparatory  to  leaving  the  crypt. 

Godfrey  immediately  stole  off,  and  succeeded  in  reach- 

68 


The  Mystery  of  the  Reliquary 

ing  his  room  without  detection.  He  went  to  bed  again 
and  slept  soundly. 

He  awoke  to  find  the  sun  glinting  pleasantly  through 
the  diamond  panes.  The  brightness  of  the  morning  had 
so  cheering  an  effect  on  his  spirits  that  he  felt  disposed 
at  first  to  regard  the  event  of  the  preceding  night  as  the 
result  of  a  dream. 

Then,  his  memory  quickening,  he  thrust  his  hand  be 
neath  his  pillow  and  drew  forth  a  piece  of  black  velvet 
edged  with  silver  lace. 

"  It  was  no  dream,"  he  muttered,  gazing  at  the  relic. 
"  I  have  really  stood  in  the  secret  burial  vault  of  the 
Ravengars.  What  a  story  this  will  be  for  Beatrice !  " 

Godfrey  was  accustomed  to  make  his  sister  his  con 
fidante  in  all  things ;  but,  somehow,  upon  reflection,  he 
resolved,  for  the  present  at  least,  to  maintain  secrecy 
respecting  Ivar's  strange  doings. 


69 


CHAPTER  III 

IDRIS   REDIVIVUS 

"  TT  VAR  has  been  at  home  two  months,  yet  we  have 
had  no  visit  from  him." 

JL.  The  speaker  was  Godfrey  Rothwell,  and  the 
scene  the  breakfast-room  of  his  villa,  Wave  Crest. 

"  Why  should  he  visit  us  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Ahem !  as  a  suitor  for  your  hand,  in  compliance  with 
his  father's  wish." 

"  Ivar  had  better  not  insult  me  by  such  an  offer." 

"  An  offer  of  marriage  can  scarcely  be  called  an  insult, 
Trixie." 

"  It  would  be  —  from  him"  returned  Beatrice  with  a 
heightened  colour.  "  I  speak  what  I  know,"  she  added 
oracularly. 

She  began  to  pour  out  the  coffee :  while  Godfrey, 
somewhat  puzzled  by  her  words,  turned  to  the  letters 
awaiting  him.  No  sooner  had  he  glanced  at  the  hand 
writing  on  the  envelope  of  the  first  than  he  gave  a  great 
start. 

"  Heavens  !  have  the  dead  returned  to  life  ?  " 

He  hastily  broke  the  seal  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  let 
ter,  while  the  mystified  Beatrice  awaited  the  explanation 
of  his  words. 

"  From  my  old  college-friend,  Idris  Marville." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Beatrice  with  a  little  scream  of  sur 
prise.  "  Is  he  not  dead,  then  ?  Did  he  escape  the 
fire?" 

"  That's  self-evident.  There  has  been  a  dreadful  mis 
take  somewhere.  He  will  prove  that  he  is  alive  by  pay- 

70 


Idris  Redivivus 

ing  us  a  visit.     In  fact,  he  will  be  here  this  very  morning. 
Well,  this  is  a  surprise  !  " 

"  More  —  a  pleasure,"  added  his  sister. 

Beatrice  had  never  seen  Idris,  but  she  had  often  heard 
of  him  from  Godfrey,  and  knew  the  painful  story  of  his 
boyhood.  She  was  aware,  too,  that  on  one  occasion, 
Godfrey,  being  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  had  applied  to 
Idris  in  preference  to  the  Earl  of  Ormsby,  and  had  re 
ceived  by  return  of  post  a  handsome  cheque.  The  mem 
ory  of  this  event  was  still  fresh  in  her  mind,  and  she  was 
desirous  of  showing  her  gratitude  to  her  brother's  bene 
factor. 

"  He  signs  himself  '  Breakspear,'  I  see,"  she  said,  glanc 
ing  at  the  signature  of  Idris. 

"  Yes :  he  has  dropped  the  name  of  Marville,  and  has 
taken  his  mother's  maiden  name.  It  is  easy  to  guess  his 
reason." 

True  to  the  promise  contained  in  his  letter  Idris  arrived 
that  same  morning,  and  Beatrice  took  a  good  view  of  him 
from  behind  the  curtain  of  her  bedroom  window,  as  he 
strode  up  the  garden  path  accompanied  by  Godfrey. 

Twenty-three  years  had  passed  since  that  memorable 
night  at  Quilaix,  and  Idris  was  now  verging  upon  thirty 
—  dark-eyed,  handsome,  athletic,  with  a  face  bronzed  by 
southern  suns.  His  appearance  impressed  Beatrice 
favourably. 

"  There  is  nothing  mean  or  ignoble  about  him,"  she 
murmured. 

The  first  greetings  being  ended,  Idris  sat  down  to  a 
pleasant  luncheon,  presided  over  by  Beatrice. 

"  Your  name  has  been  so  often  on  Godfrey's  lips,"  she 
said,  "  that  you  seem  quite  like  an  old  friend,  though  I 
never  thought  to  see  you  after  the  announcement  of  your 
death  in  the  newspapers." 

Idris  smiled. 

71 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Perhaps  I  have  done  wrong  in  letting  people  think 
that  I  perished  in  the  burning  of  the  l Hotel  de  I' Univers! 
At  the  time  of  the  fire  I  was  at  the  opera-house.  On 
leaving  I  found  the  boulevards  ringing  with  the  news.  I 
bought  a  newspaper  and  discovered  my  own  name  erro 
neously  inserted  among  the  list  of  victims.  I  resolved 
not  to  set  the  mistake  right,  for  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  that  here  was  a  convenient  opportunity  to  die  —  to 
the  world.  Wherever  I  went,  the  name  Marville  recalled 
my  father's  crime,  or  rather,  supposed  crime.  '  Let  the 
world  think  that  Eric  Marville's  son  is  dead,'  I  thought, 
'  and  let  him  begin  life  anew,  and  under  a  different 
name.'  " 

"  Was  the  yacht  Nemesis,  in  which  your  father  escaped, 
never  heard  of  again  ?  "  asked  Godfrey. 

"  It  vanished,  leaving  not  a  trace  behind." 

"  Strange !  The  news  of  your  father's  escape,  together 
with  a  description  of  the  delinquent  vessel,  would  be  tele 
graphed  to  all  civilized  countries.  Every  ocean-steamer, 
every  seaport,  would  be  on  the  watch  for  the  yacht,  and 
yet  you  say  it  was  never  seen  again." 

"  Its  disappearance  shows  how  well  Captain  Rochefort 
had  devised  his  plans,"  Idris  answered. 

"  Since  your  father  did  not  communicate  with  you,  his 
only  son,  it  follows,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  he 
did  not  communicate  with  his  more  distant  relatives  ?  " 

"  His  relatives,  if  he  had  any,  are  unknown  to  me  :  in 
fact,  I  am  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  my  father's  antecedents. 
Among  all  his  papers  there  was  not  one  letter  relating  to 
his  kinsfolk,  nor  any  clue  whatever  to  indicate  his  history 
prior  to  his  settling  at  Nantes  in  1866." 

"  You  are  certain  that  your  father  was  English  born  ? 
Because  if  so,  his  name,  and  date  and  place  of  birth,  to 
gether  with  his  parents'  names,  should  be  among  the  rec 
ords  of  Somerset  House." 

72 


Idris  Redivivus 

"  I  have  tried  Somerset  House,  and  have  traced  several 
Eric  Marvilles,  some  living  and  some  dead,  but  none  of 
them  could  I  identify  as  my  father.  I  am  sometimes  dis 
posed  to  believe  that  Marville  was  not  his  real  name,  but 
one  assumed  by  him  on  settling  at  Nantes." 

"  Cannot  your  mother's  relatives  give  you  any  infor 
mation  ?  " 

"  They,  too,  are  ignorant  of  my  father's  origin.  My 
mother  was  an  English  governess  at  Nantes  when  she  first 
met  my  father.  A  few  months  after  her  marriage  the 
death  of  an  aunt  endowed  her  with  an  ample  fortune,  a 
fortune  which  has  devolved  upon  me." 

"  If  twenty-three  years  have  passed  since  your  father 
was  last  heard  of,"  said  Beatrice,  "  do  you  not  think  that 
the  probabilities  point  to  his  death  ?  He  must  be  dead," 
she  added.  "  He  would  not  be  so  unfatherly  as  not  to 
communicate  with  you  during  all  these  years." 

"  That  is  my  opinion  —  at  times  :  and  at  other  times  I 
think  he  is  still  living,  but  resolved,  from  some  mistaken 
notion  of  honour,  to  ignore  me  until  he  can  give  me  the 
heritage  of  a  fair  name." 

"  If  he  is  alive,"  continued  Beatrice,  "  he  has  perhaps 
married  again,  and  has  children,  and,  though  it  sounds 
harsh  to  say  it,  other  and  new  interests  which  your  ap 
pearance  on  the  scene  might  embarrass." 

This  was  a  bitter  thought,  but  by  no  means  new  to 
Idris. 

"  I  trust  I  am  not  offending  you  by  the  question,"  ob 
served  Godfrey,  "  but  do  you  really,  in  your  heart  of 
hearts,  believe  that  your  father  was  innocent?" 

"  There,  the  torture.  My  mother  was  firmly  convinced 
of  his  innocence,  and  only  an  hour  or  two  before  her 
death,  as  if  gifted  with  prevision,  she  did  her  best  to  im 
press  me  with  her  belief;  nay,  more,  she  made  me  take 
an  oath  that  I  would,  on  attaining  manhood,  use  all  my 

73 


The  Viking's  Skull 

endeavours  to  clear  my  father's  name.  Yet  the  thought 
often  strikes  me  that  I  am  nursing  an  illusion  in  thinking 
him  innocent.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  set  up  my  opin 
ion  against  that  of  the  judge,  the  jury,  and  the  press  ?  " 

"And  the  masked  man  who  stole  the  runic  ring  — 
what  of  him  ?  "  Godfrey  asked. 

"  He,  too,  is  a  person  who  has  eluded  all  my  inquiries. 
And  small  wonder!  Had  I  been  a  man  at  the  time 
when  these  events  happened,  instead  of  a  boy  of  seven, 
my  investigations,  begun  at  once,  might  have  met  with 
success,  whereas  the  long  lapse  of  years  has  handicapped 
my  efforts.  And  yet,  fanciful  as  it  may  sound  to  you, 
Godfrey,  I  am  not  without  hope,  even  at  this  late  day,  of 
finding  my  father,  and  of  vindicating  his  innocence.  At 
any  rate,  this  is  the  object  to  which  my  life  is  devoted, 
and  from  which  I  shall  never  swerve." 

And  Idris,  having  satisfied  the  curiosity  of  his  friends 
on  various  other  points,  immaterial  in  themselves,  dropped 
the  subject,  and  the  conversation  flowed  into  other  chan 
nels. 

Presently  they  were  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
the  page-boy,  with  a  note  addressed  to  Godfrey,  who, 
finding  that  he  was  wanted  in  a  critical  case,  withdrew, 
leaving  Beatrice  to  entertain  the  guest. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  said,  "  that  you  wiU 
spend  a  rather  dull  time  here ;  our  household  is  a  quiet 
one,  and  Ormsby  offers  little  in  the  shape  of  entertain 
ment.  Our  only  show-places  are  the  old  Saxon  church 
on  the  hill-top,  and  Ravenhall  —  Lord  Ormsby 's  seat." 

"  I  think  I'll  take  a  stroll  towards  the  old  Saxon 
church,"  said  Idris,  who  was  simple  in  his  tastes,  and 
easily  pleased. 

"  I  have  to  pass  that  way,"  Beatrice  said,  "  and,  if  you 
care  to  accompany  me " 

Idris,  who  found  Beatrice's  soft  grey  eyes  very  attrac- 

74 


Idris  Redivivus 

tive,  readily  accepted  her  offer ;  and,  after  a  pleasant  walk 
of  half  an  hour,  the  two  reached  the  ancient  church  of 
the  Northumbrian  saint,  Oswald. 

"  This,"  said  Beatrice,  as  they  passed  through  an  arched 
doorway,  and  stood  within  the  subdued  light  cast  by  the 
stained  glass,  "  this  is  the  Ravengar  Chantry." 

"  A  sort  of  oratory  and  burial-place  of  the  Raven- 
gars?" 

"  Yes.  These  monumental  brasses  are  the  tombs  of 
my  ancestors,  that  is,  of  those  who  antedated  the  Res 
toration  ;  those  who  lived  after  that  time  are  interred  in 
the  private  crypt  at  Ravenhall.  For  you  must  know  — 
Ah,  listen  ! "  she  said,  breaking  off  abruptly.  "  Some 
one  is  playing  the  organ." 

"  And  playing  with  a  masterly  touch,  too,"  remarked 
Idris,  after  a  brief  interval  of  listening. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  murmured  Beatrice.  "  Our  own 
organist  is  not  capable  of  such  music." 

She  was  about  to  advance  on  tiptoe  from  the  transept 
to  the  nave  in  order  to  obtain  a  view  of  the  organ-loft, 
but  Idris  gently  checked  her. 

"  Stay  a  moment.  If  we  show  ourselves  we  may  dis 
concert  the  musician  and  put  an  end  to  his  playing." 

He  sat  down  on  a  stone  seat  in  the  transept.  Beatrice 
followed  his  example :  and  for  several  minutes  they  lis 
tened  in  silence,  entranced  by  the  sweet  and  noble  strains 
flowing  from  the  organ-loft. 

Then,  gradually,  a  peculiar  change  came  over  the  spirit 
of  the  music. 

"  Ah  !  what  an  eerie  strain  !  "  murmured  Beatrice,  a 
shiver  passing  over  her. 

Idris,  too,  found  himself  curiously  affected.  Becoming 
oblivious  of  external  things,  yielding  himself  entirely  to 
the  influence  of  the  music,  he  essayed  to  enter  into  the 
spirit  and  meaning  of  the  piece.  Those  solemn  rhythmic 

75 


The  Viking's  Skull 

cadences  that  thrilled  him  with  a  melancholy  awe  could 
be  interpreted  only  as  a  Funeral  March.  At  intervals 
there  pealed  from  the  organ  shivering,  staccato  notes, 
like  the  heart-sobs  of  those  who  "  keen  "  for  the  dead, 
succeeded  by  a  mournful,  stately  measure,  as  if  the  cold 
voice  of  Fate  were  declaring  that  death  must  be  endured 
as  the  common  lot  of  all.  The  very  soul  of  grief  was 
voiced  in  those  notes,  which,  lofty  and  sad,  mysterious  as 
the  moonlight,  seemed  to  weep  as  they  kissed  the  cold 
stones  of  the  chantry. 

During  the  dream-like  spell  induced  by  the  wreird  char 
acter  of  the  requiem  Idris  suddenly  became  subject  to  a 
very  strange  feeling,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never  be 
fore  known.  Vivid  as  fire  on  a  dark  night  there  came 
upon  him  the  startling  conviction  that  this  was  not  his 
first  visit  to  the  Church  of  St.  Oswald.  He  had  been  in 
this  chantry  in  time  past ;  he  had  seen  these  monumental 
brasses  before:  that  Funeral  March  was  a  familiar  air. 
The  interior  of  the  edifice  was  as  the  face  of  an  old  friend 
who  has  not  been  seen  for  years. 

He  was  sitting  in  a  part  of  the  transept  from  which  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  view  the  opposite  ends  of  the 
nave,  unless  he  possessed  the  power  of  being  able  to  see 
around  a  distant  corner ;  yet,  directing  his  mental  eye 
towards  the  interior  of  the  church,  he  could  see  the 
chancel-window  at  its  eastern  end,  and  the  hexagonal 
font  by  the  western  porch. 

He  felt  that  he  could  find  his  way  about  the  building 
without  once  stumbling,  even  though  it  were  wrapped 
in  the  gloom  of  night.  Every  part  of  it,  from  the 
belfry  tower  above  to  the  crypt  below,  was  familiar 
ground. 

With  a  solemn  and  long  drawn-out  diminuendo  the 
music  ceased. 

Shivering  like  one  roused  from  a  sleep  upon  the  cold 

76 


Idris  Redivivus 

ground  Idris  started  from  his  reverie,  to  find  Beatrice  re 
garding  him  with  a  curious,  half-frightened  look. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Mr.  Breakspear.  I  have 
spoken  to  you  three  times,  and  you  have  given  me  no 
answer.  Have  you  seen  a  ghost?  You  look  quite 
'  fey,'  as  we  say  in  these  parts." 

"  I  have  been  subjected  to  a  very  singular  experience," 
Idris  answered,  looking  around  with  a  perplexed  air. 
"  Till  to-day  I  have  never  set  foot  in  Ormsby.  Yet  I 
know  this  church,  know  it  as  well  as  I  know  my  cham 
bers  in  the  Albany.  Now,  tell  me,  does  not  the  chancel- 
window  contain  three  divisions  ?  " 

Beatrice  murmured  an  affirmative,  seeing  nothing 
wonderful  in  Idris'  remark,  inasmuch  as  chancel-windows 
usually  contain  three  divisions. 

"  And  in  the  central  pane  is  painted  the  Madonna, 
treading  upon  the  Old  Dragon,  with  the  Holy  Child  in 
her  arms  ?  " 

Beatrice,  beginning  to  be  surprised,  said  that  this  was 
correct. 

"  The  right-hand  pane  represents  King  Oswald  setting 
up  the  Cross  as  his  standard  for  battle,  while  the  left 
portra\-s  him  at  his  palace-gate,  distributing  his  gold  and 
silver  plate  among  the  poor." 

••  Yes.  How  do  you  know,  if  you  have  never 
been  here  before?"  Beatrice  burst  forth,  her  amaze 
ment  increasing  as  Idris  proceeded  to  enumerate  other 
details. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  you  must  have  been  here  before !  " 

"  Never  !  I  solemnly  assure  you  ;  at  least,  not  in  the 
body." 

He  walked  towards  the  head  of  an  oblong  marble 
sepulchre,  surmounted  by  the  gilt  effigy  of  a  crusading 
Ravengar.  lying  in  cross-legged  repose. 

"  Mark  me,"  he  said,  turning  to  Beatrice,  "  I  shall  find 

77 


The  Viking's  Skull 

on  the   other  side  of  this  tomb  a  circular  hole  large 
enough  to  admit  my  hand." 

At  the  foot  of  the  stone  knight  was  sculptured  the 
heraldic  shield  of  the  Ravengars,  much  defaced,  and 
crumbling  with  age ;  in  the  first  quartering  of  which  was 
a  round  orifice  of  sufficient  dimensions  to  admit  the  inser 
tion  of  Idris'  hand. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  this  ? "  he  asked  of  Beatrice, 
who  had  followed  him  to  the  tomb. 

But  Beatrice,  full  of  wonderment,  could  say  nothing. 

"  I  have  a  distinct  remembrance  of  placing  my  hand 
here  in  days  gone  by,"  Idris  continued.  "  Yes  :  I  have 
been  in  this  church  before :  I  am  as  certain  of  that  as  I 
am  of  my  own  existence.  But  how  ?  There's  the 
puzzle.  Not  in  the  body,  for  my  life  has  been  passed  at 
a  distance  from  Ormsby.  How  then  ?  Has  the  knowl 
edge  been  imparted  to  me  in  a  dream  ?  Or  is  it  a  fact 
that  during  sleep  the  spirit  of  man  may  visit  distant 
places  ?  Or  was  old  Pythagoras  right  in  asserting  that 
we  have  all  had  a  previous  existence  ?  Am  I  a  reincar 
nation  of  one  who  was  familiar  with  this  place  in  time 
past  ?  Miss  Ravengar,  how  is  one  to  explain  this 
psychological  puzzle  ?  " 

Beatrice's  reply  was  checked  by  a  light  footfall.  A 
young  lady,  attired  in  a  soft  clinging  dress  of  muslin,  was 
coming  slowly  towards  the  chantry. 

Idris  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes,  eyes  of  a  dark, 
tender  violet.  One  glance  :  and  then  —  and  then  — 

If  he  had  been  previously  required  to  write  an  essay 
on  love,  that  essay  would  have  run  on  the  lines  that 
love,  to  be  sincere  and  lasting,  must  be  grounded  on  the 
esteem  that  a  man  and  a  woman  have  for  each  other's 
good  qualities ;  that  love  therefore  must  be  the  product 
of  time ;  and  that,  consequently,  genuine  love  at  first 
sight  is  an  impossibility. 

73 


Idris  Redivivus 

He  thought  differently  now,  as  he  gazed  upon  a  face 
fairer  than  any  he  had  ever  seen :  so  pure  the  spirit 
breathing  from  it  that,  like  the  face  of  a  Madonna  upon 
a  cathedral  window,  it  seemed  hallowed  by  a  light  com 
ing  from  beyond. 

If,  in  the  language  of  the  mystic,  all  beauty  be  a 
manifestation  of  the  Divinity,  is  it  any  marvel  that  Idris, 
as  he  stood  mute  and  motionless,  should  have  felt  an 
awe,  a  sense  of  adoration,  stealing  over  him  ? 

As  the  young  lady  drew  near  she  acknowledged 
Beatrice's  presence  with  an  inclination  of  her  head,  an 
action  to  which  Beatrice  responded  with  a  frigid  air,  an 
air  that  seemed  to  trouble  the  other,  for  her  eyes 
drooped,  and  a  faint  colour  mantled  her  face.  With 
quiet  dignity  she  passed  by,  and  the  next  moment  had 
vanished  through  the  porch. 

Not  till  then  did  Idris  find  his  tongue. 

"  What  a  divine  face ! "  he  murmured.  "  Who  is 
she?" 

"  Her  name  is  Riviere  —  Lorelie  Riviere,"  answered 
Beatrice  somewhat  coldly. 

"  Riviere.     She  is  French,  then?" 

Though  evidently  disinclined  to  pursue  the  subject, 
Beatrice,  seeing  Idris'  interest  in  the  stranger,  proceeded 
to  enlighten  him  so  far  as  she  was  able. 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere  is  a  lady,  apparently  of  inde 
pendent  means.  She  came  to  Ormsby  about  four 
months  ago,  taking  for  her  residence  The  Cedars,  a  villa 
on  the  North  Road.  She  lives  a  quiet  and  secluded  life. 
Her  name  indicates  French  nationality,  but  beyond  that 
fact  no  one  knows  anything  of  her  origin  and  antecedents. 
Godfrey  once  attended  her  professionally,  and  she  im 
pressed  him  as  being  a  lady  of  birth  and  refinement : 
but,"  added  Beatrice,  compressing  her  lips,  "  /  do  not 
like  her." 

79 


The  Viking's  Skull 

The  tone  in  which  she  delivered  herself  of  this  last 
sentiment  somewhat  vexed  Idris :  but  whatever  might 
be  the  cause  of  her  dislike,  he  felt  that  it  did  not 
originate  from  jealousy  of  the  stranger's  beauty.  Bea 
trice  was  too  high-minded  to  be  actuated  by  so  paltry 
a  motive.  For  his  own  part  he  could  not  associate  any 
thing  bad  with  the  sad  grave  eyes  of  Lorelie  Riviere. 
Beatrice,  in  her  judgment  of  the  other's  character,  must 
surely  be  the  victim  of  some  misapprehension. 

«  But  —  but  —  was  she  the  musician  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  seems  so,"  replied  Beatrice,  moving  into  the  nave. 
"  There  is  no  one  in  the  organ-loft  now.  But  here  comes 
the  boy  who  blows.  He  will  tell  us.  Roger,  was  it 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  who  was  playing  just  now?" 

The  lad  gave  an  affirmative  nod,  and  exhibited  with 
pleasure  the  coin  he  had  received  as  a  fee. 

"  Comes  here  often,"  he  said.  "  Calls  at  our  cottage 
when  she  wants  me  to  blow." 

Idris  was  silent,  marvelling  that  one  so  young  should 
play  with  a  touch  so  masterly :  marvelling  still  more  that 
her  music  should  have  wrought  upon  him  an  impression 
so  weird. 

He  moved  around  the  church  with  Beatrice,  and  then 
mounted  the  stairs  leading  to  the  gallery,  feigning  to  be 
interested  in  what  he  saw,  in  reality  seeing  nothing  but 
the  beautiful  face  of  Lorelie  Riviere. 

On  the  seat  fronting  the  organ  was  a  book,  left  behind 
probably  by  an  oversight.  Idris  lifted  the  volume,  a 
handsome  one,  bound  in  vellum  and  gold,  and  was  much 
surprised  at  the  title. 

" Paulus  Diaconus  de  Gestis  Langobardorum"  he  read 
aloud. 

"  What  a  dreadful  title ! "  murmured  Beatrice.  "  What 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  Paul  Warnefrid's  History  of  the  Lombards,  a 

80 


Idris  Redivivus 

book  you'll  scarcely  meet  with  once  in  a  lifetime.  Quite 
a  thrilling  work,  no  doubt,  to  antiquaries  of  the  Dryas 
dust  order,  but  I  cannot  imagine  a  lady  taking  to  this 
style  of  literature.  To  begin  with,  it's  all  in  Latin :  evi 
dently  she  understands  that  language." 

"  Perhaps  the  book  does  not  belong  to  Mademoiselle 
Riviere." 

"  The  margin  of  almost  every  page  contains  notes  in  a 
lady's  handwriting  —  obviously  the  remarks  of  one  who 
understands  the  work.  She  seems  to  have  been  a  dili 
gent  student,"  continued  Idris,  observing  the  numerous 
annotations.  "  Ah  !  what  is  this  ?  '  The  Fatal  Skull/ 
written  across  the  title-page.  On  other  pages  are  the 
initials  '  F.  S.,'  presumably  standing  for  the  same  words, 
'  Fatal  Skull.'  See  here,  '  F.  S.,'  and  here  again,  '  F.  S.' " 

"  The  Fatal  Skull!"  said  Beatrice  in  wonderment 
"  What  is  meant  by  that  ?  " 

At  Beatrice's  request  Idris  translated  some  of  the  pas 
sages  marked  with  the  letters  "  F.  S.,"  but  he  failed  to 
grasp  their  significance,  there  being  no  connection  what 
ever  between  a  skull  and  the  subject-matter  of  the  para 
graph.  Then,  becoming  conscious  that  it  was  an  unchiv- 
alrous  proceeding  to  pry  into  an  absent  lady's  book,  he 
was  on  the  point  of  closing  it,  when  his  eye  was  caught 
by  the  following  words  written  upon  the  fly-leaf :  — 

Lorelie  Riviere, 

1 6,  Place  Graslin, 
Nantes. 

"  1 6,  Place  Graslin  ?  "  murmured  Idris  in  great  surprise. 
"  Heavens  !  It  was  before  the  door  of  16,  Place  Graslin 
that  M.  Duchesne  was  murdered  twenty-seven  years 
ago!" 

6  81 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SECRET   OF   THE   RUNIC   RING 

THE  room  that  Godfrey  Rothwell  was  accustomed 
to  call  his  study  was  a  small  and  cosy  apartment, 
well  furnished  with  books  ;  while,  here  and  there, 
were  many  ornaments  betraying  the  taste  of  Beatrice, 
for  the  room  was  jointly  occupied  by  brother  and  sister. 
They  loved  to  be  together,  and  while  Godfrey  studied 
his  medical  tomes,  Beatrice's  fingers  would  be  busy  with 
sewing  or  embroidery. 

On  this  particular  evening  the  presence  of  Idris  caused 
both  study  and  needlework  to  be  suspended.  He  had 
whetted  the  curiosity  of  his  entertainers  by  affirming 
that  his  coming  to  Ormsby  had  something  to  do  with  the 
search  for  his  father:  he  was,  in  fact,  following  a  clue. 

His  hearers  pressed  for  enlightenment. 

"  Let  us  sit  around  the  fire,  and  I  will  explain  my 
meaning." 

Drawing  a  comfortable  arm-chair  to  the  hearth  Beatrice 
composed  herself  for  what  she  felt  was  about  to  be  an 
interesting  disclosure. 

"  Among  the  papers,"  Idris  began,  "  handed  to  me  on 
my  eighteenth  birthday  by  my  mother's  executors  was  a 
piece  of  vellum  with  runic  letters  upon  it.  Though 
eleven  years  had  passed  I  immediately  recognized  these 
characters  as  being  identical  with  those  engraved  on  the 
Ring  of  Odin.  My  mother  had  had  the  forethought  to 
make  a  copy  of  the  inscription." 

Here  Idris  paused,  reading  a  question  in  Beatrice's 
eyes. 

82 


The  Secret  of  the  Runic  Ring 

"  Have  you  the  transcript  with  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It 
will  be  interesting  to  look  at,  though  we  do  not  under 
stand  it." 

Idris  produced  from  his  pocketbook  a  scrap  of  vellum 
inscribed  with  four  lines  of  tiny  runic  letters. 

"  And  these  are  runes  ? "  said  Beatrice,  looking  at 
them  attentively.  "  They  are  very  like  the  characters  on 
the  bugle  that  hangs  within  the  porch  of  Ravenhall." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Godfrey,  "  inasmuch  as  that  is  an  old 
Norse  drinking-horn.  But  we  are  interrupting  Idris' 
story." 

"  The  sight  of  this  inscription  naturally  interested  me," 
continued  Idris,  "  and  I  resolved  to  make  an  attempt  at 
its  decipherment,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  cast  a  ray  of 
light  upon  the  mystery  of  Duchesne's  murder,  for  I  have 
always  held  to  the  belief  that  he  was  assassinated  for  the 
sake  of  the  altar-ring.  With  this  view  I  procured  the 
services  of  a  professor  eminent  for  his  knowledge  of 
Norse  antiquities,  and  under  his  tuition  I  began  the  study 
of  runology. 

"  I  was  soon  able  to  read  all  the  letters  of  the  inscrip 
tion,  and  to  pronounce  what  I  supposed  were  syllables 
and  words  :  but  syllables  and  words  would  not  yield  any 
sense.  And  here  and  there  came  a  juxtaposition  of  con 
sonants  quite  unpronounceable.  To  add  to  the  difficulty 
there  were  no  spaces  to  show  where  one  word  ended  and 
another  began.  All  the  characters  were  equally  close 
together  and  seemed  to  form  one  long  word.  I  did  my 
best  to  break  the  inscription  up  into  its  component  parts, 
but  failed.  I  could  not  distinguish  one  familiar  term. 
Either  the  language  was  not  old  Norse,  or  the  professor 
had  taught  me  wrongly." 

"  Why  did  you  not  lay  the  inscription  before  the  pro 
fessor,"  asked  Beatrice,  "  and  get  him  to  decipher  it  for 
you  ?  " 

83 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Because  I  did  not  wish  any  one  to  know  the  secret 
till  I  myself  had  first  ascertained  its  value.  In  the  belief 
that  it  might  be  written  in  some  language  other  than  old 
Norse  I  made  incursions,  not  very  deep,  I  fear,  into 
Danish,  Frisian,  Icelandic,  and  other  northern  dialects, 
but  failed  to  identify  the  inscription  with  any  one  of  these 
tongues. 

"  At  last  in  despair  I  cast  aside  the  caution  I  had  hith 
erto  exercised,  and  placed  the  writing  before  my  tutor ; 
but,  eminent  runologist  as  he  was,  he  could  extract  no 
meaning  from  it. 

"  Anxious  to  begin  .the  search  for  my  father,  I  parted 
from  the  Norse  professor ;  but  yet,  amid  all  my  wander 
ings  through  Europe,  I  never  quite  gave  up  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  decipher  the  inscription. 

"  Now,  a  few  weeks  ago,  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  art 
of  secret  writing  may  have  been  practised  in  Norse  times 
just  as  in  our  own.  Hitherto,  following  modern  usage,  I 
had  always  read  the  inscription  from  left  to  right :  why 
not  from  right  to  left,  as  ancient  Hebrew  is  read  ?  I 
tried  the  course,  but  it  made  me  no  wiser. 

"  However,  the  cryptographic  idea  grew  upon  me,  and 
was  not  to  be  shaken  off.  As  you  perceive,  it  is  a  four- 
line  inscription  ;  I  therefore  read  downwards,  combining 
the  letters  in  the  first  line  with  those  directly  beneath  in 
the  second,  third,  and  fourth  lines,  but  with  no  success. 
I  read  upwards  :  disappointment  was  still  my  lot.  I  tried 
the  plan  of  omitting  every  alternate  letter.  I  seemed  as 
far  off  as  ever." 

"  But  you  succeeded  in  the  end,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Yes.  By  playing  at  random  with  the  letters,  I  hit 
upon  the  key  to  the  decipherment.  Observe  this  char 
acter,"  continued  Idris,  pointing  to  one  in  the  first  line, 
shaped  thus  : — %.  "  It  is  called  Hagl,  and  corresponds 
to  our  H.  As  it  is  slightly  larger  than  the  other  letters, 

84 


The  Secret  of  the  Runic  Ring 

I  had  come  to  regard  it  as  the  initial  one  in  the  series, 
and  the  sequel  proved  that  I  was  correct.  Beginning 
with  this  Hagl,  I  omitted  the  three  following  letters, 
taking  the  fifth  which  corresponds  to  our  i." 

"  That  gives  us  H-i,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Just  so.  Passing  over  the  next  three  characters  we 
come  to  the  equivalent  of  our  1." 

"  H-i-1,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Proceeding  in  this  way  I  add  two  more  letters,  and 
the  result  is  a  woman's  name,  as  common  in  Norse  days 
as  in  our  own." 

"  You  mean  Hilda  ?  " 

"  Precisely.  Hilda  is  the  first  word  of  the  inscription. 
Light  had  dawned  at  last.  I  had  discovered  the  key  to 
the  writing,  and  it  is  this  :  every  fourth  letter  is  to  be 
treated  as  if  in  immediate  sequence. 

"  I  instantly  marked  off  the  characters  into  sets  of  four. 
By  taking  out  the  first  letter  in  each  quartette,  and  plac 
ing  them  in  consecutive  order,  I  found  the  result  was  an 
intelligible  sentence.  By  treating  the  second  letter  of 
each  quartette  in  like  manner  the  sentence  was  con 
tinued  :  and  so  with  the  third  and  fourth  letters.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  I  had  mastered  the  secret 
of  Odin's  Ring." 

"  And  what  is  the  secret  ?  "  said  Beatrice  breathlessly. 

Idris  could  not  avoid  smiling  at  her  eagerness.  It  was 
pleasant  to  have  so  fair  and  interested  a  listener. 

"  Impulsive  Beatrice  !  "  said  Godfrey.  "  Idris  may  wish 
to  keep  the  secret  to  himself." 

"  It  will  be  very  unfair,  then,  after  having  excited  our 
curiosity,"  she  retorted. 

"  You  shall  have  the  secret,"  said  Idris  ;  "  though  you 
will  probably  be  as  much  disappointed  with  it  as  I  was. 
There  is  nothing  very  startling  in  it.  It  does  not  relate 
to  Odin  and  the  gods  of  Valhalla,  but  to  an  old  Viking 

85 


The  Viking's  Skull 

and  a  buried  treasure.  This  is  my  rendering  of  the 
Norse  runes  engraved  on  the  broad  perimeter  of  the 
ancient  altar-ring." 

And  here  Idris  drew  forth  a  second  piece  of  vellum, 
and  read  from  it  as  follows  :  — 

" '  Hilda,  the  Alruna,  to  her  son,  Magnus  of 
Deira,  greeting1.  —  Within  the  lofty  tomb  of  thy 
sire  Orm,  the  Golden,  wilt  thou  find  the  treasure 
won  by  his  high  arm.  The  noontide  shadow  of 
the  oft-carried  throne  will  be  to  thee  for  a  sign. 
And  may  the  fires  of  the  Asas  guard  tliy  heri 
tage  for  thee.  —  Farewell' " 

"  That,"  continued  Idris,  after  a  pause,  "  is  the  secret 
of  Odin's  Ring :  and  though,  as  I  have  said,  I  was  disap 
pointed  at  first,  yet  in  course  of  time  I  began  to  think 
that  the  knowledge  I  had  acquired  might  furnish  me 
with  a  clue  —  a  very  faint  one,  it  is  true,  —  towards  dis 
covering  my  father." 

"  I  fail  to  see  how,"  observed  Godfrey. 

"  In  this  way.  Captain  Rochefort,  who  was  instru 
mental  in  effecting  my  father's  escape,  possessed  —  sol 
have  learned  a  copy  of  this  runic  inscription.  Now,  let 
us  suppose  that  he  and  my  father  turned  their  attention 
to  its  decipherment,  and,  like  myself,  succeeded.  Let  us 
further  grant  that  they  had  reasons  for  believing  that  the 
old  Viking's  treasure  still  existed  in  the  spot  where  it 
was  originally  placed.  Allowing  these  premises,  what  is 
the  conclusion  ?  " 

"  That  they  would  endeavour  to  possess  themselves  of 
this  treasure." 

"  Just  so.  They  would  try  to  find  the  Viking's  tomb. 
Therefore,  if  I,  too,  could  hit  upon  the  place " 

"  I  understand.  You  might  come  upon  some  trace  of 
your  father." 

86 


The  Secret  of  the  Runic  Ring 

"That  is  my  meaning.  I  admit  that  it  is  a  very 
slender  thread  upon  which  to  hang  my  hopes,  but  it  is  all 
that  is  left  me.  To  find  the  burial-place  of  Orm  the 
Golden  became  my  next  object,  a  somewhat  difficult  feat, 
seeing  that  he  is  a  person  who  has  altogether  escaped  the 
historian's  pen.  However,  I  have  succeeded." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Godfrey,  incredulously.  "  You 
have  discovered  the  burial-place  of  this  unknown  Viking, 
who,  granting  the  reality  of  his  existence,  must  have 
lived  at  least  a  thousand  years  ago  ?"  And  on  receiving 
a  nod  of  affirmation,  he  asked,  "  How  did  you  accomplish 
it  ?  '  Within  the  lofty  tomb  of  thy  sire  Orm,  the  Golden}  " 
continued  he,  reading  from  Idris'  translation  of  the  in 
scription,  "  '  wilt  thou  find  the  treasure,  won  by  his  high 
arm'  There  is  nothing  here  to  indicate  the  site  of  this 
'  lofty  tomb.' " 

"  There  is  just  a  hint.  Magnus,  the  Viking's  son,  is 
said  to  be  '  of  Deira.'  I  infer,  therefore,  that  the  father 
Orm  was  likewise  of  Deira ;  that  in  Deira  he  lived,  in 
Deira  he  died,  and  in  Deira  he  was  buried.  '  Look  for 
the  tomb  in  Deira,'  became  my  watchword." 

"  Deira,"  said  Beatrice  quickly.  "  Is  not  Deira  the 
ancient  name  for  this  part  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Godfrey  answered,  "  and  it  is  rather  a  wide 
area  for  our  friend  Idris  to  explore,  seeing  that  the  name 
included  all  the  country  from  the  Tyne  to  the  Humber, 
and  from  the  Pennines  to  the  sea." 

"  True,"  assented  Idris ;  "  but  we  may  narrow  the  area 
of  our  search  considerably.  These  old  Vikings  had  such 
love  for  the  sea  that  they  were  usually  buried  within 
sound  of  the  breakers.  We  shall  not  err,  therefore, 
if  we  confine  our  attention  to  the  sea-board  only  of 
Deira." 

"  Even  then  you  will  have  a  coast-line  of  more  than 
one  hundred  miles  to  explore." 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  A  glance  at  an  ordnance  map  will  help  us  to  fix  the 
site." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Thus.  I  take  it  that  Orm  the  Viking,  being  master 
of  much  wealth,  as  is  clear  from  the  words  on  the  ring, 
would  build  for  himself  a  dwelling  or  castle  by  the  sea. 
Around  the  abode  of  their  chief  the  vassals  and  depend 
ants  would  fix  theirs,  thus  forming  the  nucleus  of  a  town. 
Now  what  name  would  such  a  place  be  likely  to  take  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Idris,"  said  Godfrey,  protestingly,  "  how  can 
I  tell  ?  —  or  you  either  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Well,  like  most  town-names  of  Norse  origin  it  would 
probably  end  in  the  syllable  by" 

"  I  will  grant  you  that  much  —  no  more." 

"  You  cannot  see  at  what  I  am  aiming  ?  " 

"  I  am  completely  in  the  dark." 

"  Receive  a  ray  of  light,  then.  Don't  you  think  that 
if  this  Orm  built  a  town,  that  town  would  bear  his 
name  ?  " 

"  Surely  you  are  not  alluding  to  Ormsby  ?  " 

"  But  I  am.  This  town  must  have  received  its  name 
from  some  one  called  Orm,  and  it  is  my  belief  that  this 
Orm  was  none  other  than  the  Viking  who  figures  on  the 
runic  ring.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  this  town,  then,  we 
must  look  for  the  '  lofty  tomb '  of  my  Norse  warrior. 
Now,  four  miles  to  the  north  of  us,  there  is,  so  local 
guide-books  say,  a  lonely  valley  called  Ravensdale,  con 
taining " 

"  Containing,"  Beatrice  broke  in,  excitedly,  "  contain 
ing  a  rounded,  artificial  hillock,  over  fifty  feet  high,  and 
known  by  the  name  of  Ormfell." 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  know  it,"  smiled  Idris.  "  Yes,  Orm 
fell,  or  Orm's  Hill,  is  the  spot  where  I  shall  find  the  bones 
of  the  ancient  Viking." 

"  And  do  you  really  intend,"  asked  Beatrice,  "  to  bore 

88 


The  Secret  of  the  Runic  Ring 

your  way  to  the  heart  of  that  hillock  in  order  to  see  what 
it  contains  ?  " 

"  Such  is  the  purpose  that  has  brought  me  to  Ormsby, 
my  object  being  to  discover  whether  this  tumulus  ex 
hibits  traces  of  having  been  recently  opened.  It  may  be 
that  in  the  sepulchral  chamber  within  the  hillock  I  shall 
light  upon  something  that  will  afford  a  clue  towards  dis 
covering  my  father.  It  may  be  a  handkerchief  merely,  a 
discarded  lantern,  a  tool,  a  match-box,  a  button,  or  some 
other  article  trifling  in  itself,  but  which  a  skilled  detec 
tive  will  know  how  to  employ  in  tracing  the  man  he 
wants.  I  may  come  even  upon  a  pocketbook  or  a  letter 
unwittingly  dropped  —  who  can  tell  ?  Ormfell  is  my 
last  hope.  Fanciful  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  Godfrey, 
something  seems  to  whisper  to  me  that  the  interior  of 
that  tumulus  will  furnish  me  with  the  means  of  lifting  the 
veil  that  has  so  long  shrouded  my  father's  fate." 

There  was  in  Idris'  manner  a  confidence  which  his 
hearers  did  not  like  to  quell  by  the  expression  of  cold 
doubt,  though  they  considered  his  expectation  fanciful  in 
the  extreme. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  obtain  the  earl's  sanction  to  make 
your  excavations  ?  "  asked  Beatrice.  "  Ormfell  stands  on 
the  Ravengar  lands,  you  know." 

"  Humph !  if  I  should  ask  for  permission  I  may  meet 
with  a  refusal.  In  such  circumstances,  therefore,  I  feel 
myself  justified  in  committing  a  bold  trespass." 

"  Well,  if  you  should  be  caught,  Mr.  Breakspear,"  said 
Beatrice  with  a  blush,  "  I  will  intercede  for  you  with  Lord 
Ormsby,  for  I  believe  I  am  rather  a  favourite  of  his." 

Idris  tendered  her  his  thanks.  He  had  almost  forgot 
ten  that  the  pretty  maiden  sitting  beside  him  -might  one 
day  be  the  inheritrix  of  Ravenhall,  and  owner  of  those 
very  lands  the  proprietary  rights  of  which  he  was  prepar 
ing  to  set  at  naught. 

89 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  But,"  continued  Beatrice,  "  if  you  are  not  going  to 
apply  for  the  earl's  permission,  how  do  you  intend  to 
escape  observation  ?  " 

"  By  conducting  my  operations  in  the  dead  of  night." 

"  Break  into  a  Viking's  tomb  in  the  dead  of  night ! 
What  a  weird  idea  !  " 

"  I  shall  not  be  the  first  who  has  so  acted,  Miss 
Ravengar." 

"  You  will  not  object  to  my  help,  I  presume  ? "  God 
frey  remarked. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  be  glad  of  it." 

"  I  am  half-disposed  to  join  in  this  romantic  business 
myself,"  said  Beatrice  with  a  smile.  "  How  interesting  if 
you  should  discover  the  treasure  !  " 

"  We  are  not  very  likely  to  discover  treasure  that  was 
secreted  a  thousand  years  ago,"  commented  Godfrey. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Idris,  "  many  sepulchral  barrows, 
opened  in  our  day,  are  found  to  contain  treasure  —  coins, 
drinking-horns,  armour,  and  the  like." 

"  True :  but  in  this  case  you  forget  that  the  words 
on  the  runic  ring  were  an  express  invitation  to  Orm's  son 
—  what  was  his  name,  Magnus  ?  —  to  possess  himself  of 
the  treasure.  He  would  not  leave  much  for  posterity  to 
glean." 

"  Yes,  if  he  received  his  mother's  ring ;  but  how  if  it 
miscarried  ?  Hilda  evidently  lived  far  away  from  her  son 
Magnus,  else  why  should  she  have  engraved  her  com 
munication  on  metal,  when  she  could  more  easily  have 
delivered  it  viva  voce  and  face  to  face  ?  The  messenger 
entrusted  with  the  ring  may  have  gone  astray.  Travel 
ling  was  a  difficult  matter  in  Norse  times,  and  many  perils 
beset  the  wayfarer,  especially  a  wayfarer  who  carried  any 
thing  worth  stealing.  Or  consider  this  point,  that  though 
Magnus  was  capable  of  understanding  the  runic  riddle  — 
otherwise  his  mother  would  not  have  adopted  such  a 

90 


The  Secret  of  the  Runic  Ring 

mode  of  communication  —  yet  it  does  not  follow  that  his 
son  or  successor  was  equally  skilled.  Supposing,  then, 
that  Magnus  was  dead  when  the  messenger  arrived  with 
the  ring,  there  may  have  been  no  one  in  Deira  capable  of 
interpreting  the  message.  The  ring  might  thus  retain  its 
secret,  and  the  hillock  its  treasure,  down  to  our  own 
time." 

"  Possible,  but  not  probable,"  smiled  Godfrey. 

Beatrice's  eyes  rested  upon  the  vellum  containing  Idris' 
translation  of  the  runic  inscription. 

" '  The  fires  of  the  As  as  guard  thy  heritage  for  thee  ! ' ' 
she  read.  "  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  The  Asas  were  the  old  Norse  gods,  who  were  sup 
posed  to  dart  forth  flames  upon  any  one  venturing  to  dis 
turb  the  sleep  of  the  dead." 

"Then  beware,  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  said  playfully, 
"  for  you  are  going  the  very  way  to  evoke  their  wrath. 
'  The  noontide  shadow  of  the  oft-carried  throne  will  be  to 
thee  for  a  sign'  How  do  you  interpret  that  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  answer  you,  Miss  Ravengar.  That 
sentence  is  an  enigma  I've  never  been  able  to  solve.  It 
is  my  intention  to  pay  a  visit  to  Ormfell  at  noon  to 
morrow,  when  an  inspection  of  the  hillock  may  perhaps 
throw  some  light  on  the  matter." 

Soon  afterwards  Beatrice  retired  for  the  night,  but  it 
was  a  long  time  before  sleep  came  to  her.  She  lay 
awake,  thinking  of  Idris,  and  of  the  passionate  look  that 
came  into  his  eyes  at  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  Lorelie 
Riviere. 


CHAPTER  V 

"  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  OFT-CARRIED  THRONE  " 

FOUR  miles  to  the  north  of  Ormsby  lies  the  valley 
of  Ravensdale,  extending  due  east  and  west,  with 
sides  steep  and  wall-like. 

The  eastern  end  opens  out  upon  the  sea-beach,  and 
here  the  width  of  the  valley  is  greatest,  the  distance  across 
being  about  half  a  mile.  Farther  inland  the  breadth  con 
tracts,  and  the  sides  approach  each  other  till  they  meet  in 
a  narrow  leafy  gorge,  whence  issues  the  slender,  silvery 
Ravensbec. 

The  valley  contains  no  human  habitation.  The  only 
sounds  that  disturb  the  stillness  are  the  melancholy  mur 
mur  of  the  sea,  and  the  occasional  tinkling  of  sheep-bells. 

In  the  middle  of  the  dale,  and  distant  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  the  beach,  rises  the  eminence  that  for  cen 
turies  has  borne  the  name  of  Ormfell,  an  eminence  circu 
lar  at  the  base,  about  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  covered  with 
green  turf. 

Upon  this  hillock  Idris  was  now  gazing  with  deep  in 
terest. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  and  with  Beatrice 
for  his  companion  he  had  come  to  take  a  view  of  the 
tumulus,  preliminary  to  the  task  of  breaking  into  it  at 
night. 

"  We  want  no  geologist,"  he  remarked,  "  to  tell  us  that 
this  is  an  artificial  elevation.  Nature  never  carved  out 
this  pyramid ;  it  has  been  raised  by  the  hand  of  man. 
This  is  the  '  lofty  tomb '  spoken  of  on  the  runic  ring. 

92 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

Within  the  heart  of  this  tumulus  we  shall  find  all  that  re 
mains  of  old  Orm  the  Viking." 

Beatrice  shared  fully  in  his  enthusiasm.  She  had  seen 
the  mound  many  a  time,  but  now  the  words  on  the  runic 
ring  had  invested  the  spot  with  a  new  and  mysterious 
charm. 

"  Orm's  warriors  were  men  with  a  taste  for  the  pictur 
esque,"  she  said.  "  They  could  not  have  chosen  a  pret 
tier  place  for  the  grave  of  their  hero." 

"  Ay,  close  to  the  sea,  that  he  doubtless  loved  well,  as 
became  a  Norse  Viking.  And  here  for  ages  he  has  re 
mained  in  solitary  glory,  with  the  surge  forever  murmur 
ing  his  requiem." 

"  This  is  certainly  a  tremendous  mass  of  earth  to  pile 
over  one  poor  mortal,"  said  Beatrice,  contemplating  the 
mound. 

"  Every  vassal  was  supposed  to  contribute  one  helmet- 
ful  of  soil  to  the  grave  of  his  chieftain." 

"  Judged  by  that  test  Orm  must  have  had  a  pretty 
numerous  following,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Or  else  each  follower  contributed  more  than  the  or 
thodox  helmetful.  O,  they  could  toil  as  well  as  fight, 
these  old  Norsemen.  They  were  not  afraid  of  work." 

"  May  the  old  Norse  blood  in  us  never  die  out,  then  ! " 

"  Amen  to  that !  But  I  see  an  upright  stone  crowning 
the  apex  of  our  fell.  Let  us  examine  it.  There  may  be 
runes  upon  it." 

Idris  extended  his  hand  to  Beatrice  and  assisted  her  up 
the  side  of  the  mound.  Arrived  at  the  summit  he  closely 
inspected  the  stone,  which  was  a  six-sided  pillar,  about 
four  feet  in  height,  black  in  colour,  relieved  here  and 
there  by  curious  red  convolutions. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  see,"  he  said,  "  this  pillar  does  not  be 
tray  any  mark  of  a  tool.  Its  hexagonal  shape,  then,  is 
due  to  nature.  The  stone  is  basalt,  which  often  assumes 

93 


The  Viking's  Skull 

a  six-sided  form.  These  red  spirals  are  apparently  sand 
stone.  It  is  evident  that  the  mass  of  basalt,  of  which 
this  pillar  is  a  fragment,  was  forced  upwards  in  an  igneous 
liquid  state  through  a  bed  of  sandstone,  taking  up  some 
of  the  latter  in  its  passage.  Hence  these  red  convoluted 
bands." 

"  I  have  heard  that  there  is  only  one  place  in  Europe 
where  basalt  of  this  character  is  to  be  found,"  said  Bea 
trice,  "  and  that  is  in  a  certain  valley  of  the  Crimea." 

"  It  may  be  so.  The  old  Norse  people  are  said  by 
some  historians  to  have  been  of  Scythian  origin,  and  to 
have  migrated  from  the  region  of  the  Crimea.  Perhaps 
they  carried  this  piece  of  basalt  with  them.  It  may  have 
been  a  baitulion,  or  holy  stone ;  in  fact,"  continued  Idris, 
as  he  removed  some  moss  from  the  foot  of  the  pillar, 
"  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Look  on  this  side,  and 
you  will  see  why  a  sacred  character  was  attributed  to  it. 
Tell  me,  Miss  Ravengar,  what  does  this  red  streak  re 
semble?" 

"A  curved  sword!"  cried  Beatrice,  in  wonderment. 
"  Why  have  I  never  noticed  it  before  ?  A  curved  sword, 
with  blade,  hilt,  and  cross-guard,  as  perfect  as  if  drawn  by 
human  hand." 

"  Just  so.  And  history  says  that  the  ancient  Scythians 
worshipped  a  scimitar  —  an  appropriate  deity  for  a  bar 
baric  and  warlike  race.  This  hexagon,  stamped  with  the 
image  of  their  god,  would  be  holy  in  their  eyes.  It 
would  be  their  altar-stone,  and  a  necessary  companion  in 
all  their  migrations." 

Beatrice,  not  doubting  the  truth  of  Idris'  theory,  gazed 
with  a  feeling  almost  akin  to  awe  upon  the  mysterious 
stone,  which  the  superstition  of  a  far-off  age  had  elevated 
to  the  rank  of  deity.  Eternity  seemed  to  be  its  attribute. 
In  its  presence  she  and  Idris  were  but  as  the  quickly- 
evaporating  dew;  long  after  their  bodies  should  have 

94 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

crumbled  to  dust  this  altar  would  remain.  A  silent  con 
temporary  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  past  empires,  it  would 
survive  the  rise  and  fall  of  many  to  come.  If  ever  stone 
was  eloquent  on  the  evanescence  of  all  things  human, 
surely  this  stone  was  ! 

Such  were  Beatrice's  thoughts,  while  Idris,  more  pro 
saic,  was  on  his  knees,  removing  the  earth  from  the  foot 
of  the  pillar,  and  scraping  the  surface  of  the  stone  with 
his  penknife  in  the  hope  of  finding  runic  letters  engraved 
upon  it :  but  in  this  he  met  with  disappointment ;  each 
face  of  the  hexagon  was  free  from  inscription. 

"  I  was  hoping,"  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet,  "  to  come 
upon  some  epitaph,  such  as,  '  /,  Magnus,  raise  this  stone 
to  the  memory  of  my  sire,  Orm,'  which  would  give  me 
proof  that  I  am  on  the  right  track,  since,  after  all,  my 
opinion  that  this  is  the  tomb  of  the  Golden  Viking  is 
purely  conjectural." 

They  descended  to  level  ground  again,  and  Idris  pro 
ceeded  to  walk  slowly  around  the  base  of  the  hillock,  en 
deavouring  to  take  no  more  than  a  foot  at  each  step. 

"  The  circumference  is,  roughly  speaking,  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet,"  he  remarked,  when  he  had  com 
pleted  the  circuit.  "  The  diameter,  therefore,  will  be 
about  fifty,  and  the  centre  about  twenty-five  feet  off." 

"  If  you  have  that  distance,  or  nearly  that  distance,  of 
solid  earth  to  bore  through,  you  have  a  hard  task,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"  My  work  will  be  of  a  much  lighter  nature,  I  trust. 
If  this  tumulus  has  been  constructed  like  the  generality 
of  its  kind,  there  should  be  a  stone  chamber  in  the  centre 
with  a  stone  passage  leading  to  it  from  the  side  of  the 
mound.  Earth  was  piled  over  the  mouth  of  the  passage, 
but  marks,  usually  taking  the  shape  of  two  upright  stones, 
were  left  to  indicate  the  entrance." 

"  What  point  of  the  compass  did  the  Norsemen 

95 


The  Viking's  Skull 

favour  when  constructing  the  entrance-passage  of  their 
tumuli  ?  " 

"  The  point  of  ingress  usually  faced  the  east." 

"  This  is  the  easternmost  point,  nearest  the  sea,"  said 
Beatrice,  moving  onward  a  few  steps ;  and  full  of  their 
enterprise,  she  cried,  "  Let  us  try  to  find  the  guide- 
stones." 

They  carefully  surveyed  the  eastern  curve  of  the  base, 
Beatrice  probing  with  the  point  of  her  sunshade,  and 
Idris  with  the  ferule  of  his  walking-stick,  among  the  long 
grass  and  bracken  that  grew  in  profusion  at  the  foot 
of  the  hillock.  Their  search,  however,  was  without 
result. 

"  I  am  at  fault,  it  seems,"  said  Idris,  "  or,  it  may  be, 
the  rain  of  centuries  has  washed  down  so  much  earth 
from  the  side  of  the  mound  that  the  guide-stones  at  its 
foot  have  become  buried.  We  can  do  nothing  without 
proper  tools." 

"  Let  us  explore  all  round,"  suggested  Beatrice,  the 
spirit  of  adventure  growing  upon  her. 

They  examined  the  entire  circuit  of  the  base,  and, 
when  that  investigation  was  over,  were  no  wiser  than 
when  they  had  begun. 

Beatrice  seated  herself  on  a  grassy  bank  facing  the 
tumulus,  and  Idris  took  his  place  beside  her. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  he  muttered,  ruefully  contem 
plating  the  hillock.  "  I  must  discover  the  mouth  of  the 
passage.  If  I  begin  to  bore  at  any  other  point  I  might 
indeed  reach  the  wall  of  the  central  chamber,  but  I  should 
be  on  the  outside,  and  it  would  be  difficult,  if  not  impos 
sible,  to  make  a  way  through  the  masonry.  Besides,  as 
I  cannot  admit  the  cooperation  of  any  one  but  Godfrey, 
tunnelling  through  twenty  feet  of  earth  is  a  task  that  will 
take  several  nights,  not  to  speak  of  the  impossibility  of 
concealing  our  work  in  the  daytime." 

96 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

"  Or  the  risk  of  your  tunnel  falling  upon  you,  in  which 
case,"  added  Beatrice,  demurely,  "  you  would  have  much 
ground  for  complaint." 

"  Wicked  Miss  Ravengar !  Would  you  jest  at  my 
misfortunes  ?  I  will  defeat  your  hopes  by  finding  the 
legitimate  entrance." 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  to  find  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  conceive  that  the  entrance  is  shaped  like  an 
ordinary  doorway,  that  is  to  say,  it  consists  of  two  up 
right  stones  a  little  distance  apart,  with  a  third  resting 
horizontally  upon  them.  I  shall  have  to  move  round  the 
base  of  the  hillock  with  an  iron  implement,  striking  into 
the  soil  till  I  meet  with  stone.  A  little  judicious  probing 
will  soon  tell  me  whether  it  be  a  boulder,  or  one  of  the 
entrance-columns.  If  a  boulder  merely,  I  shall  have  to 
pass  on,  repeating  my  experiment." 

"  But  if  these  entrance-columns  stand  well  within  the 
hillock  you  may  go  all  round  without  lighting  upon 
them." 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  have  to  begin  again,  and  strike 
deeper." 

"  Even  then  you  may  fail.  You  are  arguing  on  the 
supposition  that  the  mouth  of  the  passage  must  be  on  a 
level  with  the  base  of  the  hillock,  whereas  it  may  be 
higher,  six,  nine,  or  twelve  feet  above  level  ground. 
And,"  pursued  Beatrice,  "  if  you  conduct  your  operations 
in  the  manner  you  describe,  it  will  be  difficult  to  keep 
your  work  secret.  The  disturbed  state  of  the  soil,  and 
the  uprooting  of  the  herbage,  will  tell  a  tale  to  the  earl's 
bailiffs." 

"  Humph !  these  are  difficulties  which  call  for  a  che 
root,"  replied  Idris.  "  You  have  no  objection,  Miss 
Ravengar?  Thank  you,"  he  continued,  lighting  it. 
"  Now  to  put  on  my  thinking-cap." 

Reclining  upon  the  grass  he  puffed  thoughtfully  at  his 
7  97 


The  Viking's  Skull 


cheroot,  and  gazed  at  the  green  mound  that  seemed  to 
be  quietly  mocking  his  endeavours. 

"  Ormfell  appears  determined  to  keep  its  secret,"  said 
Beatrice.  "  We  want  Belzoni  here." 

"  Belzoni  ?  '  I  thank  thee,  Jew,'  —  or  shall  I  say 
Jewess  ?  —  'for  teaching  me  that  word.'  Shall  an  Italian 
find  his  way  to  the  heart  of  the  great  stone  pyramid, 
while  I,  an  Englishman,  am  to  be  defeated  by  a  paltry 
cone  of  earth,  fifty  feet  only  in  diameter  ?  Never  !  "  he 
exclaimed,  theatrically.  "  How,"  he  continued,  knitting 
his  brows  in  perplexity,  "  how  were  the  Norsemen  them 
selves  enabled  to  remember  where  the  point  of  ingress 
lay  ?  They  must  surely  have  left  some  mark  to  indicate 
it." 

For  the  twentieth  time  that  morning  Idris  murmured 
the  inscription  on  the  runic  ring. 

" '  Within  the  lofty  tomb  of  thy  sire,  Orm  the  Golden, 
wilt  thou  find  the  treasure  won  by  his  high  arm.  The 
noontide  shadow  of  the  oft-carried  throne  will  be  to  thee 
for  a  sign'  How  long  am  I  to  be  baffled  by  this  dark 
oracle  ?  What  is  meant  by  the  '  oft-carried  throne '  ?  " 

The  light  of  understanding  suddenly  leaped  into  Bea 
trice's  eyes,  and  she  pointed  excitedly  to  the  piece  of 
basalt  crowning  the  summit. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  are  not  the  words  '  oft-carried '  very 
applicable  to  that  stone,  if  it  has  really  been  brought 
over  sea  and  land  from  the  Crimea  ?  Is  not  that  the 
'  throne '  alluded  to  ?  " 

The  cheroot  dropped  from  Idris'  lips,  and  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  a  cry  of  exultation. 

"  By  heaven !  Miss  Ravengar,  you  are  right.  '  Oft- 
carried  throne  ?  '  Yes,  that  must  be  it !  As  the  holy 
baitulion  of  a  tribe,  marked  with  the  image  of  their  deity/ 
it  would  doubtless  be  the  stone  on  which  the  new  chief 
would  stand  when  invested  with  kingly  rule.  That 

98 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

piece  of  basalt  was  a  kind  of  Lia  Fail,  like  the  corona 
tion-stone  at  Westminster." 

"  Ormfell  is  becoming  more  interesting  than  ever," 
said  Beatrice,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure  at  having 
solved  a  problem  that  had  perplexed  Idris  so  long.  "  We 
have  discovered  the  oft-carried  throne,  and  the  oft-carried 
throne  is  to  be  to  us  for  a  sign.  A  sign  of  what?" 

"  Indicative  of  the  entrance,  I  presume,  otherwise  there 
would  be  no  reason  for  engraving  the  fact  on  the  ring." 

"  Do  the  words  mean  that  the  stone  stands  over  the 
entrance  itself  ?  If  we  remove  it,  shall  we  discover  the 
mouth  of  a  shaft  ?  " 

"  Scarcely,  I  think :  for,  if  so,  the  stone  would  be  a 
sign  at  all  hours  of  the  twenty-four,  whereas  the  language 
of  the  ring  restricts  its  significance  to  the  noontide  hour 
only." 

"  It  wants  an  hour  yet  to  noon,"  said  Beatrice,  referring 
to  her  watch. 

"  Good  !  We  will  wait  till  then.  I  have  formed  my 
opinion.  Mark  my  words,  Miss  Ravengar,  we  shall  find 
that  the  entrance  is  on  the  northern  side.  The  noontide 
hour  will  show  whether  I  am  right." 

And  Idris,  resuming  his  fallen  cheroot,  relighted  it,  and 
reclining  once  more  upon  the  grassy  bank,  waited  for  the 
time  to  pass,  while  Beatrice  sat  beside  him  in  a  state  of 
pleasing  suspense. 

"  Now  if  my  grandfather  were  here,"  she  remarked, 
"  he  might  be  able  to  tell  us  whether  or  not  Ormfell  con 
tains  the  treasure,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  break  into 
the  tumulus." 

"  Then  your  grandfather  must  have  been  a  remarkably 
clever  fellow." 

"  He  was.  By  simply  walking  barefoot  over  the 
ground  he  was  able  to  tell  whether  metals  lay  below,  and 
not  only  that,  but  the  depth  even  at  which  they  lay.  He 

99 


The  Viking's  Skull 

has  been  known  to  point  out  and  trace  accurately  the 
course  of  water,  veins  of  metal,  coal-measures,  and  the 
like." 

"  I  have  heard  of  similar  feats  performed  by  miners  of 
the  Hartz  Mountains,"  said  Idris,  "  but  have  always  re 
garded  such  stories  as  apocryphal.  Had  your  grand 
father  any  theory  to  account  for  his  marvellous  power  ?  " 

"  His  idea  was  that  the  proximity  of  metals  imparted  a 
peculiar  sensation  to  the  soles  of  his  feet,  the  intensity  of 
the  impression  being  a  measure  of  their  nearness  to  the 
surface.  His  belief  was  that  metals  cast  offsubtle  exhala 
tions  capable  of  being  detected  by  a  highly  magnetic  or 
ganism,  which  his  undoubtedly  was." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  that  theory.  There  are 
persons  who  cannot  enter  the  Mint  without  fainting." 

"  He  always  maintained,"  Beatrice  went  on,  "  that 
this  valley  of  Ravensdale  was  the  centre  of  a  rich  coal 
field." 

"  Your  grandfather's  power  of  divining  for  metals  has 
not  descended  to  you  and  Godfrey,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  I  sometimes  think  it  has  —  in  a  slight  degree.  We 
still  keep  his  walking-stick  cut  from  the  witch-hazel. 
This  stick  would  turn  visibly  in  his  hands  at  the  prox 
imity  of  metals ;  it  has  sometimes  turned  in  Godfrey's 
hands,  and  more  than  once  in  mine." 

"  Strange !  Well,  if  this  stick  is  capable  of  being 
affected  by  metals  let  Godfrey  by  all  means  bring  it  with 
him  to-night,"  said  Idris,  more  in  jest  than  in  earnest. 
"  The  treasures  of  the  Viking,  supposing  them  to  be  still 
within  the  hillock,  may  lie  concealed  under  the  floor  of 
the  chamber,  and  we  shall  be  at  a  loss  to  know  at  what 
point  to  dig  for  them." 

The  minutes  moved  tardily  on,  and  as  the  meridian 
hour  approached,  Beatrice  said :  — 

"  Have  you  noticed  how  the  shadow  cast  by  the  stone 

100 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

creeps  slowly  along  over  the  face  of  the  ground  ?  This 
hillock  could  easily  be  turned  into  a  giant  sun-dial." 

"  You  echo  my  thoughts,  Miss  Ravengar.  And  it 
seems  to  me  that  this  shadow  will  furnish  us  with  the  clue 
we  want." 

"  You  mean  that  the  shadow  of  the  stone  will  fall  on 
the  very  spot  where  the  entrance  is  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  :  for  in  that  case  the  shadow  would  be  an 
uncertain  guide,  varying  with  the  sun's  altitude  at  the 
different  seasons  :  and,  besides,  you  will  notice  that  the 
shadow  is  many  yards  from  the  foot  of  the  tumulus.  It 
is  not  probable  that  the  secret  entrance  lies  so  far  off. 
No  :  my  idea  is  this.  Connect  the  oft-carried  throne  and 
its  shadow  with  an  ideal  line,  and  near  the  point  where 
this  line  cuts  the  base  of  the  hillock  will  be  found  the 
mouth  of  the  passage.  It  is  the  noontide  hour  now," 
continued  Idris,  rising.  "  We  will  put  a  little  pile  of 
stones  to  mark  the  spot  where  the  apex  of  the  shadow 
falls  —  so,"  he  added,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 
"  Now  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  walk  from  this  point  to  the 
foot  of  the  hillock,  keeping  in  a  bee-line  with  that  piece 
of  basalt  on  the  summit,  and,  unless  I  err,  we  shall  hit 
upon  the  entrance." 

Speaking  thus,  Idris  began  his  experiment.  When  he 
had  come  to  the  foot  of  the  hillock,  Beatrice  observed 
with  surprise  that  the  thick,  heavy  walking-stick  carried 
by  him  was  in  reality  the  receptacle  for  a  long  and  stout 
sword.  This  weapon  he  pushed  into  the  side  of  the  hill 
ock  at  the  spot  touched  by  the  imaginary  line. 

After  a  series  of  probings,  begun  on  a  level  with  the 
ground  and  continued  in  an  upward  direction,  Idris 
paused  with  a  gleam  of  excitement  on  his  face.  Chang 
ing  the  direction,  he  resumed  his  probing,  moving  hori 
zontally  to  the  right  and  stopping  again.  Then  he  con 
tinued  the  movement,  this  time  coming  downward,  so  that 

101 


The  Viking's  Skull 

the  course  of  his  sword  had  described  three  sides  of  a  rec 
tangle. 

"  Miss  Ravengar,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  emotion,  "  I 
have  found  the  entrance  !  As  I  live,  I  have  found  it ! 
Here,  hidden  within  the  soil,  are  two  stone  blocks  a  little 
distance  apart,  with  a  third  resting  crosswise  upon  them, 
the  three  forming  a  kind  of  doorway.  We  have  only  to 
remove  the  earth  overlying  them,  and  we  shall  find  a  hol 
low  passage  beyond." 

Beatrice's  cheek  coloured  with  pleasure  as  Idris  con 
tinued  :  — 

"  Miss  Ravengar,  you  have  proved  yourself  a  valuable 
auxiliary.  But  for  your  explanation  I  might  still  be 
puzzling  my  mind  as  to  the  meaning  of '  the  oft-carried 
throne.'  I  offer  you  a  somewhat  problematic  reward. 
Whatever  spoil  is  found  within  shall  be  divided  equally 
between  us." 

"  Merci  !  But  are  you  not  promising  too  much  ?  Is 
not  treasure-trove  the  property  of  the  Crown  ?  " 

"  Provided  that  the  Crown  hears  of  the  discovery." 

"  Fie,  Mr.  Breakspear !  you  would  corrupt  my  hon 
esty." 

"  I  can  depart  now  with  a  hopeful  heart  for  to-night's 
work.  I  shall  have  but  little  difficulty  in  penetrating  to 
the  interior  of  the  hillock.  We  have  no  need  to  mark 
the  entrance.  Nature  has  already  done  it  for  us." 

He  pointed  to  a  cluster  of  white  flowers  growing  upon 
the  side  of  the  hillock.  Beatrice  had  no  sooner  set  eyes 
upon  them  than  an  expression  of  surprise  stole  over  her 
face. 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  this  flower  ?  "  she  said. 
"  It  is  the  vernal  mandrake." 

"  What  ?  The  mandragora  of  the  ancients  ?  —  the 
plant  that  played  so  potent  a  factor  in  classic  witch 
craft  ?  " 

102 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

"  The  same." 

Idris  gazed  with  considerable  interest  upon  the  pale 
mysterious  plant  around  which  so  many  weird  supersti 
tions  have  gathered. 

"  And  a  curious  circumstance  it  is,"  continued  Beatrice, 
who  was  somewhat  of  a  botanist,  "  that  it  should  be 
growing  here." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  plant  requiring  cultivation.  It  does 
not  grow  wild,  at  least  not  in  this  country." 

"  Then  your  inference  is  that  it  has  been  planted  here 
by  human  agency  ?  " 

"  Sown  is  perhaps  a  better  word  than  planted.  It 
certainly  did  not  spring  up  spontaneously  from  the 
soil." 

"  Hum  !  This  raises  a  curious  question.  For  what 
purpose  was  it  sown  ?  Is  some  one  carrying  on  botanic 
experiments  here  ?  Or  shall  we  say  that  my  projected 
visit  to  the  interior  of  the  tumulus  has  been  forestalled, 
and  my  unknown  forerunner,  desirous  of  renewing  his 
visit  at  an  early  date,  has  left  these  tokens  here  to  mark 
the  point  of  entrance,  probably  having  had  the  same 
difficulty  as  ourselves  in  discovering  it?  What  simpler 
plan  could  he  adopt  than  just  to  sprinkle  here  a  few  seeds 
of  the  white-flowering  mandrake  ?  " 

Beatrice  had  nothing  to  say  either  for  or  against  this 
last  theory,  and,  after  puzzling  themselves  in  vain  to  ac 
count  for  the  presence  of  the  mandrake,  they  set  off  for 
Ormsby. 

On  their  way  they  passed  a  small  workshop  belonging 
to  the  cemetery-mason.  The  man  himself  was  standing 
at  the  door,  and  Beatrice  stopped  to  exchange  a  few 
civilities  with  him. 

"  Well,  Robin,  how  is  the  world  using  you  ? "  she 
asked  pleasantly. 

103 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Rather  badly  of  late.  The  people  of  Ormsby  seem 
to  live  longer  than  they  used  to  do." 

"  I  am  afraid  my  brother  is  partly  responsible  for 
that,"  said  Beatrice  demurely.  "  It  is  his  business  to 
oppose  yours,  you  see." 

"  No  one  seems  to  want  a  tombstone  nowadays,"  con 
tinued  the  man  gloomily.  "  However,  I  had  a  little 
work  put  in  my  way  yesterday  by  Mademoiselle 
Riviere." 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere  !  "  echoed  Beatrice  in  surprise. 
"  What  order  has  she  given  you  ? " 

"  You  have  perhaps  heard  that  more  than  twenty 
years  ago  an  unknown  vessel  was  wrecked  in  Ormsby 
Race.  Four  bodies  only  were  washed  ashore,  and  these 
were  buried  in  a  corner  of  St.  Oswald's  churchyard. 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  has  obtained  permission  of  the 
Rector  to  place  a  marble  cross  over  their  grave." 

"  Did  she  say  why  she  takes  such  an  interest  in  these 
drowned  men  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Well,  as  to  that  I  was  a  little  bit  curious  myself,  and 
so  I  could  not  help  putting  a  question  or  two.  Madem 
oiselle  said  she  had  good  reason  for  believing  that  the 
lost  vessel  was  French :  and  being  French  herself  she 
felt  a  desire  to  honour  their  grave.  If  you  will  step  in 
side,  I  will  show  you  what  she  has  chosen." 

Idris,  who  felt  a  strange  interest  in  Mademoiselle 
Riviere,  required  no  second  bidding,  and  with  Beatrice 
entered  the  workshop,  where  the  mason  exhibited  with 
manifest  pride  a  cross  of  Sicilian  marble,  standing  on  a 
base  of  the  same  material.  This  pedestal  was  wrought  in 
the  shape  of  a  rock,  and  decorated  with  seaweed  and  an 
anchor. 

"  What  is  the  epitaph  to  be  ?  "  asked  Idris,  after  some 
words  complimentary  to  the  mason's  skill. 

The  man  produced  a  paper  upon  which  was  written, 

104 


"The  Shadow  of  the  Oft-Carried  Throne" 

in  the  same  delicate,  flowing  penmanship  that  had 
adorned  the  margin  of  the  Lombard  historian,  the  fol 
lowing  words :  — 

"  SACRED 
To   THE   MEMORY 

OF 

THE  DROWNED. 
OCTOBER  I3TH,  1876. 

'  He  that  is  ^vithout  sin,  let  him  first 
cast  the  stone' " 

Idris  laid  down  the  paper,  and,  after  a  few  more  words 
with  the  mason,  the  two  went  on  their  way  again. 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere  must  know  something  more 
about  those  shipwrecked  men  than  that  they  were 
Frenchmen  merely,"  observed  Idris.  "  If  the  verse  cited 
is  to  have  any  application  at  all,  it  must  mean  that  the 
drowned  men  were  guilty  of — I  know  not  what,  but 
something  upon  which  the  world  would  not  look  leni 
ently.  Hence,  perhaps,  the  absence  of  their  names  from 
the  epitaph." 

"  You  think  she  knows  their  names  ?  " 

"  Without  doubt.  Why  should  a  lady  erect  a  costly 
memorial  over  the  grave  of  men  of  whom  she  knows 
nothing  ?  If  I  may  venture  a  conjecture  I  should  say 
that  she  must  be  related  to  one  of  them.  '  He  that  is 
without  sin,  let  him  first  cast  the  stone.'  I  have  often 
thought  that  that  verse  might  very  well  form  a  part  of 
my  father's  epitaph." 


105 


CHAPTER  VI 

"THE   FIRES   OF   THE   ASAS  !  " 

MIDNIGHT  was  chiming  from  a  distant  church- 
tower  as  Idris  and  Godfrey  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  upland  that  overlooked  the  valley  of 
Ravensdale. 

They  had  left  Wave  Crest  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  fol 
lowing  a  circuitous  route,  and  favoured  by  the  late  hour, 
had  succeeded  in  reaching  their  destination  without  at 
tracting  notice. 

Beatrice  had  begged  hard  to  accompany  them,  but  this 
Godfrey  would  not  permit.  So  she  watched  them  from 
the  garden-gate  till  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  re 
turned  indoors  to  alarm  herself  by  reading  the  adventures 
of  Belzoni  in  the  Great  Pyramid,  finding  some  sort  of 
affinity  between  the  expedition  of  Idris  and  that  of  the 
enterprizing  Paduan. 

The  night  was  lovely  and  cloudless,  with  a  full  moon 
shining  from  a  sky  of  darkest  blue. 

Shimmering  white  in  the  hallowed  radiance  arose  the 
lofty  tomb  of  the  long-buried  Viking,  and  as  the  two 
friends  made  their  way  towards  it  the  character  of  the 
undertaking  began  to  oppress  the  mind  of  Godfrey  with 
various  strange  fancies.  What  the  interior  of  the  hillock 
would  reveal  he  could  not  tell ;  but  he  had  forebodings 
of  something  grim  and  ghostly.  Though  it  was  of  his 
own  free  will  that  he  came,  yet  now,  brought  close  to  the 
intended  task,  he  shrank  from  it,  and  found  himself  yield 
ing  to  a  spirit  of  fear. 

He  could  not  but  admire  the  unconcern  of  his  com- 
106 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas!" 

panion,   who    strode   gallantly   forward,   humming    the 
chorus  of  a  hunting-song. 

"  Confound  yon  bright  moon  !  "  muttered  Idris.  "  If 
any  of  the  coast-guard  should  stroll  this  way,  we  are  cer 
tain  to  be  seen." 

Arrived  at  the  northernmost  point  of  the  tumulus,  he 
flung  down  the  sack  that  he  had  carried  containing  the 
implements  necessary  for  excavation,  and  turning  his 
eyes  upon  the  side  of  the  hillock  began  to  look  about  for 
the  white-flowering  mandrake  that  betokened  the  point 
of  ingress. 

He  glanced  quickly  from  right  to  left,  but,  to  his  sur 
prise,  the  plant  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Here's  a  mystery !  What  has  become  of  the  man 
drake? —  No  matter:  there's  the  pile  of  pebbles  I  set  up 
on  the  spot  where  the  shadow  of  the  stone  fell.  I  have 
but  to  repeat  my  former  experiment." 

Making  his  way  to  the  little  heap  Idris  faced  about,  and 
then  began  to  walk  towards  the  hillock,  keeping  in  a  di 
rect  line  with  the  stone  upon  its  apex. 

On  reaching  the  base  of  the  tumulus  he  paused  and 
remained  stationary,  with  his  back  to  Godfrey,  and  his 
gaze  riveted  on  the  side  of  the  mound.  There  was 
something  so  peculiar  in  the  rigidity  of  his  attitude,  and 
in  his  long-continued  silence,  that  Godfrey's  heart  quick 
ened  with  an  unknown  fear,  a  fear  that  deepened,  when 
Idris,  with  a  scared  face  turned  slowly  round,  and,  as  if 
the  power  of  speech  had  left  him,  beckoned  with  his 
finger  for  the  surgeon  to  come  forward. 

"  Look  there  !  "  he  said  in  a  hoarse  voice,  clutching 
Godfrey  with  one  hand,  and  pointing  with  the  other. 
"  Tell  me  whether  I  see  aright.  What's  that  ?  " 

And  there,  protruding  from  the  side  of  the  hillock  in 
the  place  where  the  mandrake  had  grown,  was  —  a  human 
hand ! 

107 


The  Viking's  Skull 

A  human  hand,  rising  from  the  earth,  motionless  and 
rigid,  the  crooked  fingers  seeming  to  tell  of  the  agony  of 
a  death  by  suffocation. 

Some  one,  since  the  morning,  had  been  trying  to  force 
a  way  through  the  soil  at  the  entrance  of  the  passage,  and 
had  lost  his  life  in  the  attempt. 

Such  was  Idris'  first  thought.  A  closer  inspection, 
however,  showed  that  the  event  had  not  happened  that 
day.  The  nails  had  fallen  from  the  fingers,  and  there 
was,  besides,  a  decayed,  vegetable  look  about  the  hand, 
differing  altogether  from  the  aspect  presented  by  the  skin 
of  the  newly-dead.  How  Idris  came  to  overlook  it  dur 
ing  his  morning  visit  was  a  mystery,  since  the  hand  must 
have  been  in  its  present  position  for  several  days,  if  not 
for  several  weeks.  Its  sudden  exposure  was  perhaps  due 
to  the  afternoon  storm,  which  had  washed  away  a  portion 
of  the  soil. 

To  endeavour  to  ascertain  the  identity  of  the  victim 
by  pulling  at  the  withered  hand,  and  thus  bringing  the 
decayed  form  to  view,  was  an  act  that  not  only  Idris 
shrank  from,  but  even  Godfrey,  the  surgeon,  familiar  with 
the  disjecta  membra  of  the  dissecting  room. 

Then  Idris,  bending  forward  to  examine  the  hand  more 
closely,  gave  vent  to  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Brave  heroes  we  are  to  be  frightened  by  a  plant !  It 
is  nothing  but  the  root  of  the  mandrake." 

Godfrey  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  as  he  assured  himself 
by  a  nearer  view  that  what  he  had  taken  for  a  human 
hand  was  indeed  the  withered  root  of  the  mandrake,  so 
apt  to  assume  strange  and  unaccountable  shapes. 

Yet,  to  save  his  life,  he  durst  not  put  forth  his  hand  to 
touch  it. 

If  such  were  the  terrors  guarding  the  exterior  of  the 
tomb,  what  might  he  not  expect  to  find  in  the  interior  ? 

"  Now,  Godfrey,  our  silly  fright  being  over,  to  work  ! 

1 08 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas  ! " 

I  will  dig  while  you  watch.  Take  a  seat  on  this  boulder 
here,  and  if  you  should  see  anybody  coming,  give  the 
word  and  I  will  suspend  operations  for  a  while.  There 
cannot  be  more  than  five  or  six  feet  of  earth  to  knock 
away,  and  then  the  passage  will  be  open  to  our  view. 
The  work  ought  not  to  take  long." 

Godfrey  did  as  desired,  and  Idris  flung  off  ulster,  coat, 
and  vest.  Rolling  his  shirt-sleeves  above  the  elbow,  he 
drew  the  tools  from  the  sack  and  selected  a  spade. 

"  Now  to  disturb  the  repose  of  old  Orm  the  Golden ! " 
he  cried,  excitement  sparkling  from  his  eyes.  "  Now  to 
evoke  the  fires  of  the  Asas  !  " 

The  sickly,  withered  mandrake-root,  with  its  resem 
blance  to  a  human  hand,  fronted  him,  and  as  if  in  con 
tempt  of  his  former  fears,  he  drove  the  edge  of  the  spade 
clean  through  the  stalk.  The  separated  parts  seemed  to 
quiver  and  writhe  in  a  manner  extremely  suggestive  of 
animal-life. 

A  thrill  of  terror  shot  through  his  frame,  and,  spade 
in  hand,  he  paused,  staring  at  the  root ;  for,  simultane 
ously  with  its  dissection,  there  came  a  sound,  bearing  re 
semblance  to  a  plaintive  human  cry. 

It  was  not  the  creation  of  his  fancy,  since  Godfrey  too 
had  heard  it. 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  holy  what  was  that  ?  "  he 
asked,  starting  up  from  the  stone  upon  which  he  had  been 
sitting. 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Idris,  try 
ing  to  look  unconcerned.  "  It  came  —  or  seemed  to 
come  —  from  this  plant  here.  The  poet  speaks  of:  — 

'  Shrieks  like  mandrakes  torn  from  the  ground  ! ' 

but  I  never  thought  to  hear  them  in  my  own  per 
son." 

109 


The  Viking's  Skull 

He  toyed  idly  with  the  spade,  desirous,  yet  almost 
afraid,  of  making  a  second  stroke. 

In  all  his  life  Godfrey  had  never  been  so  much  alarmed 
as  he  was  at  that  moment. 

"  Idris,  let  us  leave  this  business  —  at  least,  for  to 
night." 

His  words  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  the  other's  courage. 

"  Leave  it  ?  Never  !  till  I  have  forced  my  way  to  the 
heart  of  this  hillock,  and  wrested  the  secret  from  it.  On 
the  very  point  of  discovery  must  we  turn  back,  frightened 
by  a  sound,  the  cry,  probably,  of  some  night-bird  ?  We 
are  not  the  first  to  break  into  a  Norse  barrow  at  mid 
night.  Shall  we  be  outdone  in  enterprise  by  others  ? 
No :  though  the  dead  Viking  rise  up,  sword  in  hand,  to 
repel  me,  yet  will  I  go  on." 

And  with  this  Idris  lifted  the  spade,  and  attacked  the 
side  of  the  hillock,  savagely  cutting  the  mandrake  root  to 
fragments,  half  expecting  to  hear  the  weird  cry  again. 
But  the  sound,  whatever  its  origin,  was  not  repeated. 

Finding  the  earth  to  be  hard  conglomerate,  and  not 
easily  susceptible  to  impressions  from  the  spade,  Idris  laid 
that  tool  aside,  and,  fitting  the  wooden  shaft  of  a  pickaxe 
into  its  iron  head,  proceeded  to  reduce  the  conglomerate 
to  a  crumble,  which  he  then  tossed  aside  with  the  spade, 
labouring  alternately  with  the  two  implements. 

No  word  escaped  him :  he  was  too  much  interested  in 
the  work  to  waste  his  breath  in  words.  His  efforts  soon 
unearthed  two  large  unhewn  blocks  of  stone  standing  a 
little  distance  apart. 

Fired  to  fresh  energy  by  this  sight,  a  proof  that  he  was 
working  in  the  right  direction,  he  continued  his  excava 
tions  between  the  two  blocks.  After  the  lapse  of  a  few 
minutes  he  paused,  and  thrust  his  arm  up  to  the  shoulder 
through  an  aperture  appearing  in  the  conglomerate. 

"  lo  triumphe  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Empty  space  behind 

no 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas!" 

this.  A  little  more  labour,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  crawl 
into  the  passage  beyond." 

Declining  Godfrey's  repeated  offers  of  assistance,  Idris 
resumed  his  work  enthusiastically,  dealing  stroke  after 
stroke  upon  the  wall  of  earth  that  barred  his  way.  Down 
came  the  black  soil  with  a  rush,  as  if  glad  to  meet  free 
air  after  an  imprisonment  of  centuries.  Wider  and  wider 
grew  the  aperture,  revealing  an  open  space  beyond  :  and, 
at  last,  flinging  down  his  tools,  Idris  declared  that  the 
way  was  now  open  to  the  interior. 

"  Where's  the  lantern,  Godfrey  ?  " 

The  surgeon  was  already  fumbling  about  in  the  sack. 
With  an  exclamation  of  dismay  he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
gave  it  a  shake,  but  nothing  came  forth. 

"  By  heaven  !  Godfrey,  don't  say  that  we  have  left  the 
lantern  behind ! " 

"  That  is  just  what  we  have  done." 

"  At  least,  the  match-box  is  there." 

"  No  :  that,  too,  is  a  minus  article." 

Idris  breathed  a  malediction.  As  he  himself  had  at 
tended  to  the  putting  up  of  their  paraphernalia,  the  omis 
sion  was  his  own,  and  no  blame  attached  to  Godfrey. 

The  neglect  seemed  irremediable.  It  was  out  of  the 
question  to  return  to  Ormsby  for  the  lantern,  and  yet, 
without  a  light,  it  would  be  hazardous  to  grope  their  way 
through  darkness  to  the  interior  of  the  hillock.  To  be 
so  near  the  point  of  discovery,  and  yet  so  far  off,  was 
maddening. 

"  I  shall  not  return  without  some  attempt  at  explora 
tion,"  cried  Idris.  "  We'll  have  to  grope  about  in  the 
dark  and  try  what  we  can  discover  in  that  way." 

Godfrey  was  almost  ready  to  drop  at  this  weird  sug 
gestion. 

"  Stay  a  moment !  "  continued  Idris,  stooping  over  his 
vest,  and  feeling  in  the  pockets,  "  surely  I  have  some 

in 


The  Viking's  Skull 

matches  here.  Yes,"  he  added,  with  a  cry  of  delight, 
drawing  forth  a  metallic  box.  "  Here  they  are !  How 
many?  Three,  as  I  live!  Three  only!  Humph!  we 
shall  have  to  economize  our  slender  resources.  We  must 
feel  our  way  along  the  passage.  I'll  walk  a  few  steps 
ahead  of  you,  so  that  if  any  hurt  should  befall  me,  take 
warning  yourself,  and  help  me  if  you  can.  We'll  not 
strike  these  vestas  till  we  are  fairly  within  the  central 
chamber.  We  may  learn  something  from  their  glimmer." 

Idris,  having  resumed  his  coat  and  vest,  was  on  the 
point  of  leading  the  way,  when  he  suddenly  became  im 
pressed  with  the  idea  that  there  might  be  some  hidden 
danger  within  the  hillock,  and  for  Beatrice's  sake  it  was 
not  right  that  Godfrey  should  be  drawn  into  it. 

But  the  surgeon,  though  indeed  reluctant  to  go  forward, 
was  nevertheless  unwilling  to  be  considered  a  coward,  and 
demurred  to  the  suggestion  that  he  should  remain  at  the 
entrance  till  Idris  had  first  paid  a  visit  to  the  interior. 

"  Seriously  speaking,"  said  Idris,  "  I  do  not  see  what 
danger  there  can  be,  but  still  there  is  the  possibility  of  it, 
and  I  ought  to  meet  it  alone.  Beatrice  would  never  for 
give  me  if  harm  should  befall  you.  Stay  here  till  I  have 
made  a  brief  exploration." 

While  speaking  he  caught  sight  of  the  walking-stick 
with  which  Godfrey's  grandfather  had  been  accustomed 
to  perform  his  feats  of  divination.  It  was  curiously 
shaped,  carved  so  as  to  represent  a  serpent  twining  round 
a  wand,  the  head  of  the  reptile  being  set  with  two  green, 
glittering  stones  in  imitation  of  eyes. 

"  Pass  me  your  ancestral  caduceus"  he  said.  "  It  will 
serve  to  guide  my  steps.  I  wish  these  eyes  were  lamps  !  " 

Then,  waving  the  surgeon  back,  he  stepped  within  the 
dark  hole,  which  seemed,  in  Godfrey's  imagination,  to 
gape  like  the  mouth  of  a  great  dragon  about  to  swallow 
its  victim. 

112 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas!" 

Idris'  sensations  on  entering  the  passage  were  far  from 
agreeable.  Though  the  moonlight  without  was  brilliantly 
white,  not  a  ray  of  it  found  entrance  to  the  passage ;  the 
air  within  was  black  and  terrible,  and  as  solid-looking  as 
if  formed  of  ebony. 

His  progress  was  slow  and  tedious,  from  the  necessity 
imposed  upon  him  of  halting  at  each  step  to  feel  his  way. 
Before  lifting  his  foot  he  carefully  explored  the  ground  in 
front  of  him  with  the  stick,  and  he  touched  in  turn  the 
sides  of  the  passage  as  well  as  the  roof.  The  corridor, 
judged  by  this  test,  was  about  seven  feet  in  height  and 
four  in  width.  Roof,  walls,  and  flooring  were  composed 
apparently  of  solid  masonry. 

After  taking  about  twenty  paces  Idris,  extending  the 
rod  on  each  side  of  him,  found  that  it  touched  nothing. 
The  passage  had  opened  out  into  something  wider. 

He  judged  that  he  had  entered  the  mortuary  chamber, 
and  was  now  standing  in  the  presence  of  the  dead. 

What  awesome  sight  did  the  black  darkness  hide? 

For  all  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  not  one,  but  many 
Vikings  might  be  entombed  here,  disposed  at  different 
points  of  the  chamber,  their  bodies  preserved  from  decay 
by  embalming.  Like  the  lost  and  frozen  dead  men,  seen 
sometimes  by  navigators  in  northern  seas,  they  might  be 
in  sitting  posture,  staring  with  fixed  and  glassy  eyes  as  if 
daring  him  to  advance. 

The  temptation  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  place  by 
striking  one  of  the  matches  was  very  great,  but  he  re 
frained  from  the  action,  resolving  that  Godfrey  should 
share  the  sight. 

Before  calling  upon  him  to  follow,  a  sudden  desire 
came  upon  Idris  to  grope  his  way  once  around  the 
interior. 

Exploring  the  darkness  with  his  stick  he  soon  hit  upon 
the  chamber-wall  at  the  point  where  it  shot  off  at  right 
8  113 


The  Viking's  Skull 

angles  to  the  side  of  the  passage.  Passing  his  hand  over 
its  surface,  an  action  accompanied  on  his  part  by  a  feel 
ing  of  disgust,  the  masonry  being  wet  and  slimy,  he  dis 
covered  what  seemed  to  be  a  rusty  rod  extending  in  a 
horizontal  line  along  the  wall  at  the  height  of  about  six 
feet  from  the  ground.  Puzzled  at  first  to  account  for  its 
use  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  had  once  served  to 
uphold  the  tapestry  with  which  the  interiors  of  these  old 
Norse  tombs  were  sometimes  decorated.  The  tapestry 
itself  was  gone,  crumbled  to  dust,  perhaps,  with  the  lapse 
of  time,  but  the  metallic  rod  remaining  would  serve  to 
conduct  him  round  the  chamber. 

He  shot  a  glance  through  the  passage  just  traversed 
by  him :  the  darkness  swallowed  up  its  perspective,  ren 
dering  it  impossible  for  the  eye  to  form  any  judgment  as 
to  its  length.  The  entrance  seemed  close  by,  a  square 
patch  of  white  light,  in  which  was  framed  a  dark  stoop 
ing  figure,  that  of  Godfrey,  vainly  endeavouring  to  keep 
an  eye  on  his  venturesome  friend. 

Idris  turned  from  the  passage,  and  holding  the  rod 
with  his  left  hand,  and  grasping  the  stick  in  his  right,  he 
advanced  slowly  and  cautiously  along  the  side  of  the 
chamber-wall,  over  ground  that  had,  perhaps,  been  un 
trodden  for  ten  centuries. 

After  taking  six  paces  he  was  brought  to  a  halt  by  the 
wall  inclining  again  at  right  angles.  He  had  evidently 
reached  one  corner  of  the  stone  chamber. 

Turning  his  face  in  this  new  direction,  and  still  sub 
mitting  to  the  guidance  of  the  supposed  tapestry-rod,  he 
continued  his  progress,  exploring  the  way  before  him 
with  the  stick. 

He  paused  again  as  his  left  hand  came  in  contact  with 
a  small  triangular  shred  of  cloth  hanging  to  the  rod.  It 
was  apparently  a  fragment  of  tapestry.  There  might  be 
other  and  larger  portions  farther  on,  which,  in  view  of 

114 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas!" 

their  antiquity,  would  be  of  considerable  value.  Pleased 
with  the  idea  that  he  would  not  come  away  from  the 
tomb  altogether  empty-handed  he  was  about  to  move 
forward  again,  when  his  attention  was  suddenly  diverted 
to  the  stick  he  was  carrying. 

Without  the  exercise  of  any  volition  on  his  part  it 
was  slowly  inclining  itself  downwards.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  fact,  and  the  knowledge  came  upon  him 
as  a  disagreeable  surprise.  It  was  as  if  the  serpent-rod 
had  suddenly  become  instinct  with  life. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  cast  it  from  him,  but  thinking 
that  its  downward  motion  might  be  due  to  the  relaxed 
state  of  his  muscles,  he  raised  and  extended  the  stick 
horizontally :  he  kept  it  in  that  position,  but  it  was  evident 
to  his  sense  of  feeling  that  the  rod  manifested  a  tendency 
to  assume  an  oblique  direction,  just  as  if  a  thread  were 
tied  to  its  extremity,  and  some  one  below  lightly  pulling 
it; 

What  was  the  cause  of  this  ?  Must  he  dismiss  his 
former  scepticism,  and  believe  in  the  powers  of  the  di 
vining  rod  ?  Had  this  staff  of  witch-hazel,  electrified  by 
the  nervous  force  of  his  own  body,  become  transformed 
for  the  moment  into  a  sort  of  magnet,  capable  of  being 
attracted  by  metals  ?  Was  he  standing  on  the  site  of  the 
Viking's  buried  treasure  ?  Was  the  very  treasure  itself 
lying  upon  the  clay  flooring  at  his  feet  ?  If  he  struck  a 
match  would  his  eye  be  caught  by  the  sparkle  of  silver 
and  gold  ?  No :  he  would  reserve  the  light,  and  make 
what  discoveries  he  could  without  it. 

Relinquishing  his  hold  of  the  metallic  rod  he  dropped 
upon  his  knees,  and  with  his  face  bent  low,  put  forth  his 
hands. 

****** 

Hark !     What  was  that  ? 

The  silent  watcher  at  the  entrance  started. 


The  Viking's  Skull 

A  faint  cry  from  the  interior  of  the  hillock  as  of  one 
calling  for  help,  and  then  stillness. 

For  some  time  Godfrey  had  kept  his  ear  close  to  the 
flooring  of  the  passage,  a  position  which  enabled  him  to 
follow  the  footsteps  of  Idris.  But  now  these  footsteps 
had  ceased,  their  cessation  being  followed  shortly  after 
wards  by  the  cry. 

Godfrey  continued  to  listen,  but  though  straining  his 
ear  to  the  utmost  he  could  not  detect  the  faintest  sound. 
A  suspiciously  horrible  stillness  prevailed  within. 

"  Idris  !  Idris  !  "  he  called  out,  sending  the  full  volume 
of  his  voice  along  the  passage  :  and  "  Idris  !  Idris  !  "  was 
echoed  from  the  roof  in  tones  that  seemed  like  a  mockery 
of  his  own.  If  the  dead  in  the  sepulchral  chamber  were 
gibing  at  him  the  effect  could  not  have  been  more  weird. 

Again  he  called  aloud,  and  again  there  was  no  answer, 
save  the  echoes  of  his  own  voice. 

"  My  God !  what  has  happened  ?  "  he  cried. 

There  fell  upon  him  a  terror  like  that  which  has  turned 
men's  hair  grey  in  a  single  night.  He  did  not  doubt,  he 
could  not  doubt,  that  some  disaster  had  happened :  he 
must  hasten  to  the  rescue  :  duty,  humanity,  friendship, 
honour  —  all  these  blending  together  in  a  voice  of  thun 
der  urged  him  forward.  Every  moment  was  precious ; 
and  yet  to  venture  into  the  dark  chamber  without  a  light 
seemed  a  piece  of  folly,  for  what  was  there  to  prevent 
him  from  meeting  with  the  same  fate  as  Idris  ? 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned  his  eyes  towards  the 
cliffs  and  sea-beach  in  the  hope  of  seeing  a  coast-guard 
whose  lantern  would  at  this  juncture  be  of  inestimable 
service.  But  alas  !  no  coast-guard  was  visible,  and  to  go  off 
in  search  of  one  was  out  of  the  question,  when  a  minute 
might  make  all  the  difference  between  life  and  death. 

No  :  he  must  venture  in  alone,  and  without  a  light, 
and  he  nerved  himself  for  the  task.  Casting  one  glance 

116 


"The  Fires  of  the  Asas!" 

at  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  land,  as  objects  he  might  never 
see  again,  he  snatched  up  the  pickaxe  to  serve  as  a 
weapon  of  defence,  against  he  knew  not  whom  or  what, 
and  plunged  into  the  mouth  of  the  excavation  that 
yawned  black  and  grim  before  him. 

His  course  through  the  passage  was  much  quicker 
than  that  of  Idris  had  been.  There  could  be  no  danger 
here,  seeing  that  Idris  had  traversed  it  in  safety.  There 
fore  the  surgeon  groped  his  way  swiftly  along  the  wall 
of  the  corridor  until  it  suddenly  turned  off  at  right  angles, 
whence  he  concluded  that  he  was  at  the  entrance  of  the 
sepulchral  chamber. 

"  Idris,  where  are  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

There  was  no  vocal  reply,  but  a  faint  splash  greeted  his 
ears  like  the  movement  of  a  hand  through  water,  a  sound 
which  Godfrey  interpreted  as  an  answer. 

For  a  terrible  idea  had  seized  him.  The  floor  of  the 
chamber  was  of  earth  only,  and  not  of  masonry,  he 
thought :  and  the  rain  of  centuries,  percolating  through 
the  roof,  had  converted  this  flooring  into  a  quagmire  in 
capable  of  supporting  the  lightest  weight.  Idris  had 
become  immersed  in  it :  had  just  sunk  below  the  surface  : 
his  voice  was  gone  :  he  had  just  given  his  last  gasp  ! 

How  was  he  to  save  him  ?  One  step  forward,  and  he 
himself  might  be  in  the  abyss  of  mud. 

To  test  his  opinion  he  flung  the  pickaxe  forward,  taking 
care  to  avoid  the  spot  whence  came  the  splash.  As  it 
fell  Godfrey  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  The  clangour  made 
by  the  falling  implement  proved  that  the  quagmire  was 
the  creation  of  his  fancy.  Still,  what  had  become  of 
Idris  that  he  made  no  reply  ?  He  must  be  somewhere 
within  this  chamber,  seeing  that  there  was  no  egress  from 
it  except  by  the  passage.  O  for  a  light,  if  only  that  of  a 
match  !  Its  momentary  gleam  would  suffice  to  dispel  the 
mystery. 


The  Viking's  Skull 

He  listened  for  Idris'  breathing,  but  failed  to  detect 
any  sound :  Idris,  if  he  were  really  here,  was  as  still  as 
the  dead. 

There  was  no  other  course  for  Godfrey  than  to  grope 
about  until  he  came  upon  the  body  of  Idris,  an  unpleas 
ant  task,  seeing  that  it  might  bring  him  into  contact  with 
the  bones  of  Vikings  ! 

He  started  forward  at  random.  Five  paces,  and  his 
knee  knocked  against  some  obstruction.  Putting  out  his 
hand  he  ascertained  that  directly  in  front  of  him  was 
something  formed  of  hewn  stone. 

With  an  instinctive  feeling  that  this  was  a  tomb,  God 
frey  gave  it  a  wide  range,  and  in  so  doing  stumbled  and 
fell  over  another  object. 

It  was  a  human  body.  In  a  moment  Godfrey  was 
upon  his  knees,  and  passing  his  hand  quickly  over  the 
prostrate  figure  he  discovered  that  it  was  Idris  in  a  state 
of  coma. 

Quickly  he  felt  for  the  match-box  which  Idris  had  put 
into  his  vest  pocket,  and  on  finding  it,  drew  it  forth. 
Taking  out  one  of  the  wax-lights  he  struck  it  on  the  side 
of  the  box. 

Never  within  Godfrey's  experience  had  the  striking  of 
a  match  been  attended  with  a  result  so  appalling,  for  he 
immediately  found  himself  in  an  atmosphere  of  many- 
coloured  flame.  The  hot  breath  of  a  fiery  furnace 
glowed  around,  dazzling  his  eyes,  scorching  his  face. 

In  that  moment  of  bewilderment  and  terror  the  words 
of  the  runic  ring  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  found 
expression  in  his  gasping  articulation  : 

"  The  fires  of  the  Asas  !  " 

Simultaneously  with  the  illumination  a  fierce  detonation 
like  a  powder-blast  rent  the  air,  and  Godfrey,  flung  back 
wards  as  by  a  giant  hand,  tumbled  senseless  to  the  ground. 

118 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  WITHIN   THE    LOFTY    TOMB " 

GODFREY  opened  his  eyes  to  find  himself  lying 
on  the  grassy  slope  of  Ormfell,  staring  up  at 
the  night-sky,  with  Idris  kneeling  beside  him. 
A  cool  sensation  was  playing  around  his  neck,  and,  grad 
ually  waking   up  to  the  reality  of  outward  things,  the 
surgeon  discovered  that  his  vest  and  collar  lay  open  to 
the  breeze,  and  that  Idris  was  sprinkling  his  face  with 
cold  water-drops  obtained  from  a  pool  close  by. 

"  Coming-to  a  little,  I  see,"  Idris  observed  cheerfully. 
"  How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Awfully  queer  and  dizzy,"  replied  Godfrey. 

He  lifted  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  utterly  unable  to 
account  for  his  present  dazed  condition. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes.  Take  a  pull  at 
this  spirit-flask  :  that'll  revive  you.  I  owe  my  life  to 
you,  old  fellow." 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  asked  Godfrey,  his  mind  still  too  con 
fused  to  recall  the  recent  accident. 

"  Gaseous  vapour  would  have  claimed  its  victim.  Your 
grandfather  was  quite  right  in  asserting  this  to  be  a  car 
boniferous  soil.  Some  of  the  coal-gas  has  issued  to  the 
surface.  The  atmosphere  within  the  hillock  was  a  mix 
ture  of  carbon  dioxide  and  floating  fire-damp.  Foolishly 
creeping  about,  with  mouth  held  to  the  ground,  I  took 
in  such  a  whiff  of  the  one  as  to  be  quite  overpowered  by 
it  before  I  had  time  to  rise,  while  the  other  exploded  as 
soon  as  you  struck  the  match." 

119 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Godfrey,  now  quite  alive  to  the  past,  gave  an  ejacula 
tion  of  annoyance. 

"  I'm  a  pretty  doctor  not  to  have  warned  you  against 
noxious  vapours  !  It's  a  marvel  we  are  both  alive.  But 
why  was  I  not  overpowered  ?  " 

"  Probably  because  you  were  not  holding  your  face  to 
the  earth  where  the  gas  collects,  though  very  likely  you, 
too,  would  have  succumbed  in  a  few  moments.  How 
ever,  all's  well  that  ends  well.  Your  striking  a  light  was 
a  fortunate  thing,  for  it  appears  to  have  acted  like  an 
electric  discharge  in  instantly  clearing  the  air.  True,  you 
were  stunned,  but  I  recovered ;  whether  instantly  by  the 
explosion,  or  more  slowly  by  the  purifying  atmosphere, 
I  cannot  tell.  All  I  know  is  I  awoke,  and  realizing  what 
had  happened,  and  feeling  you  beside  me,  I  lost  no  time 
in  dragging  you  out  into  the  open  air.  And  here  we 
are,  none  the  worse  for  our  experience,  I  trust.  No 
doubt  it  was  occurrences  like  this  that  caused  the  old 
Norsemen  to  believe  that  Odin  guarded  the  tombs  of  the 
dead  by  darting  forth  flames." 

"  The  fires  of  the  Asas  are  real  enough,  after  all,"  mut 
tered  Godfrey,  still  feeling  like  one  in  a  dream.  "  Hasn't 
the  sound  of  the  explosion  brought  any  one  here  ?  " 

"  It  seems  not,"  said  Idris,  looking  round.  "  So  far  we 
are  safe.  Old  Orm  offers  a  stubborn  resistance,"  he  con 
tinued.  " '  He  being  dead,  yet  fighteth.'  But  he  is 
doomed  to  be  defeated,  for  I  will  not  go  until  I  have  ex 
amined  the  interior  of  the  hillock." 

"  You  are  not  thinking  of  venturing  into  that  death 
trap  again  ?  "  said  Godfrey,  aghast. 

"  There  is  no  danger  now :  at  least,  not  from  gases. 
The  explosion  dissolved  them,  and  the  outer  air  has  had 
time  to  penetrate  within.  Besides,  forewarned  is  fore 
armed.  We  know  our  peril :  if  one  of  us  should  be  over 
powered,  the  other  must  drag  him  out." 

120 


"Within"  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

"  How  can  you  make  an  investigation  without  a  light  ? " 

"  We  shall  have  light  enough.  Fortunately,  you 
snapped  the  lid  of  the  box  tightly  before  striking  your 
match  —  an  action  that  effectually  screened  the  remain 
ing  two  from  the  flame  of  the  fire-damp." 

"  Two  matches  will  not  help  us  much." 

"  There  you're  wrong.  We  will  take  some  of  this 
brushwood  inside  and  light  a  bonfire :  and  the  sooner  we 
make  a  beginning  the  better.  It's  two  o'clock  now.  In 
another  hour  or  so  day  will  be  dawning." 

Inwardly  groaning  at  the  perversity  of  his  friend,  God 
frey  lent  a  hand  in  collecting  the  materials  necessary  for 
the  fire :  and,  not  without  some  trepidation,  carried  them 
through  the  dark  passage  into  the  mortuary  chamber, 
the  atmosphere  of  which,  as  his  nostrils  assured  him,  had 
become  considerably  clarified  since  his  previous  visit. 

Fearing  that  the  two  matches  when  kindled  might  ex 
pire  before  he  could  fire  the  twigs,  which  were  damp  with 
the  afternoon's  rain,  Idris  drew  forth  a  small  book,  a 
pocket  edition  of  Hamlet,  and  proceeded  to  detach  leaf 
after  leaf,  twisting  them  into  spirals.  These  he  handed 
to  Godfrey,  enjoining  him  to  keep  a  flame  alive  by  kin 
dling  one  from  another  till  the  twigs  should  have  fairly 
caught. 

"  Now  to  strike  the  fateful  match  !  "  he  said.  "  Pray 
heaven  the  Asas  do  not  give  us  another  pyrotechnic  dis 
play  !  " 

He  cautiously  struck  the  match.  Godfrey  instantly 
kindled  one  of  his  paper-spirals  from  the  flame. 

"  No  fireworks  this  time,  you  see,"  remarked  Idris,  as 
all  remained  quiet.  "  This  is  what  may  be  called  making' 
light  of  Shakespeare,"  he  added,  as,  taking  the  kindled 
papers  one  after  another  from  Godfrey's  hand,  he  applied 
them  to  the  leaves  and  twigs,  endeavouring  to  force  them 
into  a  blaze. 

121 


The  Viking's  Skull 

The  pale,  bluish  glare  that  sprang  up  made  the  cham 
ber  faintly  visible.  Idris,  intent  on  his  task  of  ignition 
saw  nothing  but  the  brushwood  before  him,  but  Godfrey 
could  not  refrain  from  casting  a  timid  glance  around, 
even  at  the  risk  of  extinguishing  the  lighted  paper  in  his 
hand. 

There  was,  however,  nothing  very  dreadful  in  the  scene 
before  him.  He  found  himself  standing  in  a  chamber 
about  twenty  feet  square,  the  sides  of  which  were  com 
posed  of  rough-hewn  blocks  of  masonry,  glistening  with 
moisture,  and  dotted  with  patches  of  fungous  growth. 
The  roof  was  formed  by  a  layer  of  tree-trunks,  necessarily 
of  great  size  and  strength  in  order  to  support  the  vast 
weight  above.  The  floor  seemed  to  be  of  earth,  its  sur 
face  glimmering  here  and  there  with  tiny  black  pools, 
formed  by  the  constant  dropping  of  moisture  from  the 
roof. 

But  the  treasures  deposited  of  old  by  Hilda  the  Alruna 
for  her  son,  Magnus  of  Deira  —  where  were  they  ?  Well 
for  Idris  that  he  had  not  set  his  heart  on  finding  them, 
for  the  chamber  was  bare,  save  for  one  object  in  the  cen 
tre.  This  was  the  sarcophagus-like  structure  against 
which  Godfrey  had  collided  when  looking  for  Idris'  body. 
By  the  flickering  light  he  could  see  that  this  receptacle 
was  of  oblong  shape,  the  sides  consisting  of  four  upright 
stone  slabs  let  into  the  earth,  with  a  fifth  one  resting  upon 
them  like  a  lid. 

Idris  had  now  succeeded  in  his  task,  and  the  twigs  and 
branches  blazing  up  cast  over  the  chamber  a  ruddy  glow 
sufficiently  bright  for  the  taking  of  observations. 

"  This  is  better  than  a  lantern.  I  warrant  the  place 
hasn't  looked  so  cheerful  for  centuries,"  remarked  Idris,  as 
he  stood  by  the  blaze  and  took  a  survey  of  the  chamber. 

"  Cheerful  at  present,  perhaps,  but  in  ten  minutes  we 
shall  be  smoked  out." 

122 


"Within  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

"  I  think  not.  This  fire  will  burn  bright  and  clear 
presently,  and  will  give  out  little  smoke." 

Taking  up  a  lighted  brand  from  the  fire  Idris  moved 
forward  and  began  his  investigations  with  the  tomb  by 
making  a  scrutiny  of  its  lid. 

"  No  inscription  here,  runic  or  otherwise.  —  Humph  ! 
shall  we  supply  one,  Hie  JACET  ORMUS.  —  Now  to  re 
move  this  slab  !  Let  us  see  if  there  are  bones  beneath." 

Too  eager  to  wait  for  Godfrey's  assistance  he  seized  the 
lid  with  one  hand,  and,  exerting  all  his  strength,  swung  it 
off  laterally. 

A  cry  of  surprise,  rather  than  of  alarm,  broke  from 
him,  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  full-sized  human  skeleton 
lying  within.  A  burning  fragment  from  the  torch  he 
carried  dropped  within  the  teeth  of  the  skeleton,  where, 
still  continuing  to  glow,  it  lit  up  the  skull  with  weird 
effect,  the  red  flicker  giving  an  apparent  motion  to  the 
grinning  jaws  and  eyeless  sockets. 

"  Are  these  the  remains  of  your  Viking  ?  "  asked  God 
frey. 

"  Can  there  be  doubt  about  it  ?  This  is  old  Orm,  or 
what  is  left  of  him,"  replied  Idris,  holding  the  torch  low 
over  the  skeleton. — "Here  reposes  one  who,  I  doubt 
not,  made  a  brave  figure  in  his  day.  And  now  ?  '  None 
so  poor  to  do  him  reverence.'  The  people  of  Ormsby 
do  not  know  even  his  name,  and  yet  he  was  the  founder 
of  their  town,  its  nomenclator,  in  fact.  The  old  Greeks 
would  have  raised  a  statue  and  an  altar  to  him  in  their 
market-place,  and  have  worshipped  him  as  their  hero 
eponymous.  And  here  he  lies  neglected  and  forgotten  ! 

'  Shade  of  the  mighty !  can  it  be 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  ? ' 

"  Is  this  wasted  bone  the  '  high  arm '  spoken  of  on  the 
runic  ring  ?  Where  be  now  its  feats  of  strength  ?  And 

123 


The  Viking's  Skull 

where  is  the  wealth  won  by  his  ashen  spear  ?  the  riches 
that  conferred  upon  him  the  epithet  of  Golden?  the 
treasure  placed  within  the  '  lofty  tomb '  by  his  wife, 
Hilda,  the  Norse  prophetess  ?  Vanished  !  Whither  ? 
Removed  by  whom  ?  and  when  ?  Did  Magnus  of  Deira 
really  receive  the  runic  ring  despatched  to  him  by  his 
mother  ?  Did  he  come  here  in  ancient  days  to  remove 
his  heritage,  or  has  the  treasure  been  taken  by  other, 
perhaps  modern,  hands  ?  If  so,  by  whose  ?  By  the 
masked  man  of  Quilaix's?  Ey  Captain  Rochefort's  or 
by  my  father's  ?  Have  they  left  behind  any  trace  of 
their  visit  ?  " 

His  eyes  roving  around  the  chamber  were  attracted  by 
a  fabric  lying  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  walls. 

"  What  have  we  here?"  he  said,  stepping  forward  and 
picking  it  up.  "  A  piece  of  cloth  !  Will  this  give  us  a 
clue  to  the  men  who  were  here  last?  " 

For  better  inspection  he  carried  the  cloth  to  the  light 
of  the  fire.  When  unrolled  the  fabric  proved  to  be  ob 
long  in  shape,  six  feet  by  four,  its  edges  very  much 
frayed,  and  its  surface  so  defaced  by  clay  that  it  was  im 
possible  at  first  to  discover  its  texture,  colour,  or  use. 

"  I  see  what  it  is,"  he  remarked  at  last.  "  Look  at  that 
triangular  shred  of  cloth  hanging  from  the  metallic  rod : 
its  shape  tallies  with  the  triangular  rent  in  this  fabric. 
This  has  been  torn  from  that  rail :  it  is  a  part  of  the 
tapestry  that  once  decked  the  walls  of  this  chamber.  I 
am  disappointed  again  ;  I  thought  to  find  a  modern  ves 
ture,  and  am  put  off  with  ancient  tapestry." 

He  began  to  scrape  the  fabric  with  his  penknife. 

"  I  can  detect  some  coloured  threads,"  he  went  on. 
"  It  is  figured  arras  :  but  it  is  impossible  at  present  to 
make  out  what  the  figures  are.  Here  are  some  letters, 
too.  I  can  detect  N.  and  T.  We  must  keep  this. 
When  cleaned  it  may  prove  to  be  an  interesting  '  find '  — 

124 


"Within  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

of  a  more  ancient  date,  unless  my  chronology  be  at  fault, 
than  the  famous  Bayeux  Tapestry.  What  puzzles  me  is, 
why  the  man  who  carried  off  the  rest  of  the  tapestry 
should  leave  this  behind  him." 

"  Probably  because  it  is  a  torn  remnant." 

"  But  it  would  be  a  very  simple  matter  to  sew  it  to  the 
main  piece  again.  Do  you  notice  how  the  rail  is  bent 
where  the  three  cornered  bit  is  ?  " 

Godfrey  looked  and  saw  that  the  rod  was  bent  down 
wards. 

"  What  inference  do  you  draw  from  that  ? "  Idris 
asked. 

"  That  somebody  must  have  been  tugging  heavily  at 
the  tapestry  to  cause  such  a  curvature." 

"  Exactly.  But  why  should  any  one  wrench  so  vio 
lently  at  the  tapestry,  tapestry  that  was  evidently  regarded 
as  valuable,  otherwise  it  would  not  have  been  carried  off?  " 

Godfrey  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  apparent  irrel 
evancy  of  Idris'  remarks. 

"  Your  question  is  not  susceptible  of  an  answer." 

"  True  —  at  present.  But  an  investigator  should  take 
note  of  every  circumstance,  however  trifling,  although  at 
the  time  he  may  fail  to  discern  its  true  significance." 

"  But  seeing  that  the  tapestry  may  have  been  carried 
off  centuries  ago,  it  is  difficult  to  discover  the  present  ap 
plication  of  your  remark." 

"  On  the  other  hand  it  may  have  been  carried  off  only 
recently  :  it  is  these  recent  traces  that  I  wish  to  find. 
Somehow,  this  bent  rod  attracts  me.  Ah  !  " 

Whilst  speaking  thus  he  suddenly  recalled  an  incident 
that  had  occurred  during  his  previous  exploration  in  the 
dark. 

"  Godfrey,  your  divining  rod.  I  am  half-a-believer  in 
its  powers.  At  any  rate  I  am  going  to  try  an  experi 
ment." 

125 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Taking  the  hazel  stick  he  walked  to  that  part  of  the 
wall  where  the  shred  of  tapestry  hung. 

"  Either  I  am  dreaming,"  he  said,"  or  a  singular  experi 
ence  befell  me  at  this  spot." 

Standing  in  the  same  position  as  before  he  extended 
the  stick  horizontally,  explaining  to  Godfrey  the  reason 
for  his  act. 

But  Solomon's  saying,  "  The  thing  that  hath  been,  it  is 
that  which  shall  be,"  was  not  verified  on  the  present  oc 
casion.  Though  Idris  waited  patiently  for  several  min 
utes  the  rod  manifested  none  of  the  downward  tendency 
that  it  had  previously  shown. 

Godfrey  himself  took  the  stick  and  tried  the  experi 
ment,  but  with  no  better  result.  He  expressed  his 
opinion  that  Idris  must  have  been  the  victim  of  an  illu 
sion  :  but  to  this  Idris  would  not  assent. 

"  The  rod  does  not  turn  now,  that's  clear.  But  that  it 
did  turn  I  am  confident.  It  was  no  fancy  of  mine." 

"  Let  us  dig,"  said  Godfrey,  "  and  see  whether  there  is 
anything  beneath  the  soil  that  could  have  caused  it." 

With  these  words  he  took  up  the  spade  and  began 
digging.  Idris  followed  his  example,  wielding  the  pick 
axe,  but  found,  after  a  few  strokes,  that  some  hard  sub 
stance  prevented  the  point  of  the  implement  from 
penetrating  to  a  greater  depth  than  three  or  four  inches. 

"  This  earth  is  mere  superficial  deposit,  percolations 
from  the  roof,"  said  Idris.  "  There  is  a  stone  flooring 
beneath." 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  cleared  away  the  terrene 
deposit,  discovering  nothing  however,  except  a  block  of 
smooth  masonry,  at  which  Idris  dealt  a  few  strokes  by 
way  of  experiment. 

"  Humph  !  seems  solid  enough.  The  dull  sound  given 
forth  is  hardly  suggestive  of  a  cavity.  What  made  the 
rod  curve,  I  wonder?" 

126 


"Within  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

Finding  no  answer  to  this  question,  he  turned  reluc 
tantly  away,  and  began  to  explore  other  parts  of  the 
chamber.  He  made  a  careful  examination  of  its  flooring, 
allowing  no  part  of  it  to  escape  him.  With  the  spade  he 
swept  aside  the  black  water  from  the  tiny  hollows,  and 
with  the  pickaxe  he  probed  the  ground  at  various  points, 
discovering  everywhere  stone  pavement  beneath  the  su 
perficial  covering  of  earth. 

The  object  that  he  was  hoping  to  find  —  a  match-box, 
or  a  button  bearing  the  maker's  name ;  the  dated  sheet 
of  a  newspaper ;  a  scrap  of  handwriting  :  a  handkerchief, 
marked  with  the  owner's  initials  :  or  some  article  of  like 
character  —  existed  only  in  his  fancy.  A  thorough 
search  on  the  part  of  the  two  friends  failed  to  bring  any 
thing  to  light,  either  on  the  surface  of  the  floor,  or  em 
bedded  within  the  clay. 

There  was  nothing  to  indicate  the  date  at  which  the 
tumulus  had  been  last  entered :  whether  ten,  twenty,  or 
a  hundred  years  before.  For  all  they  could  tell  to  the 
contrary,  many  centuries  might  have  passed  since  its 
interior  had  been  trodden  by  human  footsteps. 

Relinquishing  at  last  his  fruitless  labours  Idris  seated 
himself  on  the  edge  of  the  Viking's  tomb  with  disap 
pointment  written  on  his  features. 

"  I  have  so  long  clung  to  the  hope  that  this  place 
would  afford  a  clue  to  the  finding  of  my  father,  that  I 
cannot  give  up  the  notion  even  now,  when  its  futility 
seems  most  apparent.  You  may  think  me  fanciful,  God 
frey,  but  something  seems  to  whisper  that  there  are  traces 
of  him  here,  if  I  did  but  know  where  to  look  for  them. 
And  yet,  I  suppose,  we  have  done  all  that  it  is  possible 
to  do?" 

He  rose  again  from  his  seat  and  scrutinized  the 
four  walls  of  the  chamber,  sounding  them  with  the 
pickaxe. 

127 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  There  does  not  appear  to  be  any  cell  or  passage  be 
hind  these,"  he  muttered. 

He  turned  his  eyes  upwards,  and  took  a  survey  of  the 
black  tree  trunks  forming  the  roof  of  the  chamber :  and 
finished  his  investigations  by  probing  the  dust  of  the 
Viking's  tomb  with  the  end  of  the  walking-stick,  but 
made  no  further  discovery. 

"  So  end  my  hopes  of  finding  my  father,"  he  muttered 
sadly.  "  My  labour  has  been  expended  on  a  vain  quest. 
Years  of  search  throughout  Europe :  years  of  study  over 
runic  letters,  end  in  —  a  dead  man's  bones  !  —  How  this 
old  fellow  grins  !  One  would  think  he  enjoys  my  dis 
comfiture.  I  shall  take  his  skull  back  with  me." 

"  Why,  in  heaven's  name?  " 

"  A  whim  of  mine,  nothing  more.  I  have  taken  a 
fancy  for  the  skull,  and  the  skull  I  will  have.  So  old 
Orm,"  he  continued,  stooping  down  and  detaching  the 
grisly  head-piece  from  the  vertebral  column,  "  prepare  to 
face  the  light  of  day  after  a  sleep  of  centuries  in  dark 
ness." 

"  Put  it  back  again,"  said  Godfrey.  "  What  good  can 
it  do  you  ?  You  can't  possibly  put  it  to  any  use." 

"  The  skull  of  a  brave  Viking  is  a  trophy  well  worth 
preserving,  a  noble  ornament  for  my  sideboard.  And  if 
you  talk  of  use,  there  are  several  uses  to  which  I  can  put 
it.  I  may  set  it  with  silver,  and  convert  it  into  a  drink- 
ing-cup,  like  that  used  by  Byron.  Or  I  may  turn  it  into 
a  pretty  lamp  to  write  tragedy  by,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
poet  Young.  Or,  imitating  the  old  Egyptians,  I  may  use 
it  as  a  table-decoration  to  remind  me  of  death,  and  of  the 
vanity  of  all  things  human.  The  skull  will  be  a  souvenir 
of  our  expedition,  a  memento  of  an  experience  unique,  at 
least,  in  my  life.  —  So  hurrah ! "  he  cried,  holding  the 
trophy  aloft,  "  HURRAH  FOR  THE  VIKING'S  SKULL  !  " 

****** 
128 


"Within  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

Day  was  dawning  when  Idris  and  Godfrey  reached 
home,  after  concealing,  so  far  as  lay  in  their  power,  the 
traces  of  their  night's  work.  Beatrice,  who  had  been 
sitting  up  anxiously  awaiting  their  return,  gave  a  little 
scream  when  she  beheld  their  blackened  faces. 

"  Heavens  !  what  has  happened  ?  "  she  cried. 

Over  the  repast  that  she  had  kept  in  readiness  for  them 
Idris  gave  an  account  of  the  expedition,  finishing  his 
story  by  producing  the  relics  he  had  brought  away  with 
him,  namely,  the  Viking's  skull  and  the  fragment  of 
tapestry. 

"  Let  us  have  some  warm  water,  Trixie,"  said  Godfrey. 
"  We  will  try  to  clean  this  tapestry." 

A  bowl  of  warm  water  was  soon  procured,  Godfrey 
diluting  it  with  a  powder  brought  by  him  from  his  sur 
gery. 

"  A  chemical  preparation  of  my  own,"  he  explained, 
"  warranted  to  take  out  stains  without  injuring  the  cloth." 

Under  Beatrice's  manipulation  the  relic  gradually  dis 
closed  itself  as  a  piece  of  brownish-coloured  linen,  divided 
by  a  vertical  line  of  black  thread  into  two  sections  of  un 
equal  length.'  Each  section  consisted  of  a  picture  woven 
in  woollen  threads  on  the  linen  background,  and  each  was 
fragmentary  in  character,  the  beginning  of  the  one  and 
the  end  of  the  other  being  torn  away. 

The  left  section  represented  a  battle-field  :  spears  were 
hurtling  in  air :  two  warriors  were  lying  prostrate,  and  a 
third,  a  yellow-haired  hero,  his  bare  arms  flung  aloft,  was 
in  the  act  of  falling  backwards,  his  breast  pierced  by  an 
arrow.  These  figures,  drawn  to  a  scale  of  about  half  the 
human  size,  were  in  a  good  state  of  preservation.  The 
colours  of  the  garments  had  scarcely  faded :  the  golden 
filaments  composing  the  shields  still  retained  their  bright 
ness  :  and  the  swords,  woven  from  silver  threads,  glinted 
in  the  rising  sunlight,  as  Beatrice  moved  the  fabric  to  and 
9  129 


The  Viking's  Skull 

fro.  To  this  section  was  attached  the  subscription  :  — 
"  Hie  ORMUM  AUREUM  OCCIDUNT." 

"  What  do  these  words  mean  ?  "  Beatrice  asked. 

"  *  Here  they  kill  Orm  the  Golden,'  "  Idris  replied. 

"  Orm  the  Golden,"  Godfrey  repeated.  "  You  are 
right,  then,  Idris,  in  your  theory  as  to  that  tumulus  be 
ing  the  tomb  of  the  warrior  spoken  of  on  the  runic  ring. 
I  confess  that  till  this  moment  I  have  had  my  doubts  on 
the  point,  but  this  piece  of  tapestry  is  decisive." 

In  the  other  section  of  the  cloth  the  same  warrior,  still 
pierced  by  the  arrow,  was  represented  as  lying  prone 
upon  the  earth :  two  figures,  those  of  a  woman  and  of  a 
boy,  were  bending  over  him.  That  it  was  night-time  was 
shown  by  the  torches  they  carried.  The  woman  had  evi 
dently  come  to  bear  off  the  body  of  the  dead  chief.  The 
words,  "  HILDA  INVENIT  "  —  were  clearly  discernible ;  the 
rest  of  the  inscription  was  wanting. 

"  '  Hilda  finds  '  —  Orm,  I  suppose  the  next  word  would 
be,  if  we  had  the  inscription  in  full,"  said  Idris.  "  Hilda 
—  the  lady  of  the  runic  ring,  you  will  remember.  This 
other  figure  is  perhaps  intended  for  her  son  Magnus :  if 
so,  it  is  clear  that  he  was  a  lad  at  the  time  of  his  father's 
death,  which  may  account  for  his  mother's  act  in  hiding 
the  treasure  in  Ormfell.  There  it  was  to  remain  till  her 
son  should  be  of  age  to  defend  his  heritage.  The  roll  of 
tapestry  suspended  round  the  tomb  was  evidently,  when 
entire,  a  complete  record  in  needlework  of  the  life  of  Orm 
the  Viking.  It  must  have  formed  an  interesting  relic  of 
Norse  times.  A  pity  we  haven't  the  whole  of  it." 

"  And  so  this  is  Hilda  the  Alruna  !  "  mused  Beatrice, 
contemplating  the  figure  on  the  tapestry.  "  How  cur 
iously  we  are  linked  with  the  past !  To  think  that  the 
expedition  in  which  you  nearly  lost  your  lives  is  the  re 
sult  of  a  sentence  engraved  on  a  Norse  altar-ring  a  thou 
sand  years  ago  by  the  lady  portrayed  on  this  piece  of 

130 


"Within  the  Lofty  Tomb" 

needlework !  She  had  dark  hair,  if  this  be  her  '  counter 
feit  presentment.'  And  to  think,  too,  that  we  possess  the 
very  skull  of  the  yellow-haired  Viking  pictured  here !  It 
sounds  too  romantic  to  be  true.  Where  are  you  going  to 
put  your  grisly  trophy,  Mr.  Breakspear?" 

"  The  head  of  the  staircase  is  the  orthodox  place." 

"  The  orthodox  place  ?  "  repeated  Beatrice,  puzzled  by 
the  expression. 

"  Some  ancient  houses  keep  a  skull  as  part  of  the  fur 
nishings,"  Idris  explained.  "  It  is  supposed  to  bring  good 
luck,  and  the'head  of  the  staircase  is  its  usual  place,  any 
removal  of  it  being  fraught  with  danger  to  the  house. 
Of  course  this  is  foolery,  but  — 

"  But  still  we  may  as  well  be  in  the  fashion,"  smiled 
Beatrice,  "  and  so  I'll  put  it  where  you  say." 

The  Viking's  skull  was  therefore  taken  by  her  to  the 
embrasure  of  the  window  that  looked  down  the  staircase, 
after  which  act  Beatrice  went  off  for  a  brief  spell  of  sleep, 
this  being  the  first  time  she  had  ever  gone  to  bed  at  sun- 
rising. 

Godfrey,  preparing  to  follow  her  example,  lingered  for 
a  moment,  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  the  water  in 
which  the  tapestry  had  been  cleansed. 

"  How  red  this  water  is  !  "  he  murmured.  "  To  what 
is  the  colour  due  ?  " 

"  Probably  to  the  reddish  coloured  clay  with  which  the 
cloth  was  stained,"  replied  Idris. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  physician,  slowly  and  thought 
fully,  "  but  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  clay  in  that  part 
of  the  chamber  where  the  tapestry  lay  was  not  red  at  all. 
The  appearance  of  this  water  is  certainly  curious.  One 
might  almost  take  it  for  blood  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LORELIE    RIVIERE 

THE  expedition  to  Ormfell  had  been  a  failure 
from  Idris'  point  of  view.  Deaf  to  the  voice 
of  reason  he  had  clung  to  the  idea  that  the 
Viking's  tomb  held  a  clue  that  would  aid  him  in  finding 
his  father.  Having  now  received  clear  proof  of  the 
fallacy  of  that  hope  Idris,  after  a  few  hours'  sleep,  wan 
dered  forth  by  the  seashore  to  consider  what  his  next 
step  should  be. 

It  was  an  afternoon  of  brilliant  sunshine.  The  tide 
was  out,  but  without  making  any  inquiries  as  to  the  time 
of  its  return,  he  strolled  leisurely  onward,  wrapped  in 
meditation. 

Casually  raising  his  eyes  from  the  ribbed  sea-sand  he 
caught  sight  of  a  structure,  locally  known  as  "  The  Stairs 
of  David."  This  was  an  arrangement  of  three  ladders, 
suspended  one  above  another  on  the  face  of  the  cliff, 
which  at  this  point  rose  vertically  to  a  height  of  more 
than  a  hundred  feet.  Iron  hooks  kept  these  ladders  in 
position.  The  structure,  a  very  frail  one,  had  been  put 
up  originally  to  enable  crab-fishers  to  reach  this  part  of 
the  beach  with  more  expedition. 

Still  deep  in  thought  Idris  passed  on,  and  had  left  the 
ladder  about  a  mile  in  his  rear,  when  he  suddenly  paused 
and  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  murmuring  sound  — 
the  sound  he  had  heard  for  some  time,  but  to  which  he 
had  given  no  heed. 

The  tide  was  coming  in,  and  coming  in  so  quickly,  that 
unless  he  hastened  back  at  once  he  ran  the  risk  of  being 

132 


Lorelie    Riviere 

drowned  :  for  steep  cliffs  rose  above  him,  and  the  open 
beach  was  at  least  five  miles  away. 

Just  on  the  point  of  setting  off  at  a  run  he  was  checked 
by  the  recollection  of  "  The  Stairs  of  David."  It  would 
be  easy  to  scale  the  cliff  by  means  of  this  structure. 

He  moved  onward  at  a  leisurely  pace,  and  then  stopped 
abruptly.  What  was  that  object  rising  and  falling  on  the 
surface  of  the  water  a  few  yards  in  rear  of  the  advancing 
line  of  foam  ?  Let  "  The  Stairs  of  David  "  be  far  off  or 
close  by,  he  must  satisfy  his  curiosity  before  mounting 
them. 

He  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  breakers,  and,  with  a  thrill 
of  surprise,  discovered  that  the  undulating  object  was  a 
woman's  hat. 

How  came  it  there  ?  He  had  not,  so  far  as  he  could 
remember,  encountered  anybody  in  his  walk  along  the 
shore.  He  looked  over  the  dancing  waves,  but  neither 
boat  nor  vessel  was  visible  :  he  looked  up  and  down  the 
beach :  he  looked  along  the  craggy  summit  of  the  cliffs 
that  rose  in  frowning  grandeur  above  him,  but  could  see 
neither  man  nor  woman.  He  stood,  a  solitary  figure,  on 
a  shore  that  stretched  away  north  and  south  for  many 
miles. 

Regardless  of  the  advancing  tide  he  remained  motion 
less,  fascinated  by  the  sight  of  the  hat,  his  uneasiness 
deepening  each  moment.  There  was  something  familiar 
in  the  grey  felt  with  its  once  graceful  feather  bedrenched 
with  the  salt  spray. 

He  advanced  into  the  shallow  water  and  lifted  the  hat 
for  a  closer  survey.  It  was  rarely  that  Idris  took  note 
of  a  woman's  attire,  but  he  could  recall  every  detail  of 
the  dress  worn  by  Mademoiselle  Riviere  on  the  day  he 
saw  her  in  the  Ravengar  Chantry,  and  he  knew  that  this 
hat  was  hers. 

His  heart,  weighted  by  a  terrible  idea,  sank  within  him 
133 


The  Viking's  Skull 

like  lead.  Half  expecting  to  see  a  dead  form  come  float 
ing  past  he  glanced  again  over  the  surface  of  the  rippling 
tide. 

He  now  recollected,  what  he  had  hitherto  forgotten, 
that  there  were  dangerous  quicksands  along  this  part  of 
the  coast.  Must  he  believe  that  Mademoiselle  Riviere 
had  become  engulfed,  and  that  the  tide  was  now  foaming 
jubilantly  over  her  head  ? 

Once  more  he  looked  along  the  shore,  and,  as  he 
looked,  his  pulses  thrilled  with  a  sudden  and  delicious 
relief;  for  at  the  sandy  base  of  a  distant  cliff  he  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  lying  prone. 

Dropping  the  hat  he  hurried  over  the  intervening 
space,  and  in  a  moment  more  was  kneeling  beside  the 
form  of  Lorelie  Riviere.  Beneath  her  lay  the  third  and 
lowest  of  the  three  ladders  that  formed  the  so-called 
"  Stairs  of  David."  She  had  been  either  ascending  or 
descending  the  frail  structure,  and  it  had  given  way. 
The  ladder,  worm-eaten  with  age,  had  snapped  into  three 
portions  on  touching  the  sands,  and  the  shock  of  its  fall 
had  deprived  her  of  consciousness. 

Her  eyelids  were  closed.  Silent  and  motionless  she 
lay,  her  breathing  so  faint  as  scarce  to  seem  breathing  at 
all,  her  delicate  fingers  still  clinging  to  a  rung  of  the 
fallen  ladder. 

"  Thank  heaven,  she  is  alive  !  "  murmured  Idris,  a  great 
dread  rolling  from  his  heart. 

He  gently  detached  her  fingers  from  the  rung  of  the 
ladder,  and,  tenderly  raising  her,  rested  her  head  upon 
his  knee,  turning  her  face  towards  the  breeze.  As  he 
did  so,  the  murmuring  sound,  that  had  never  once  ceased, 
seemed  to  swell  louder,  and  his  heart  almost  leaped  into 
his  mouth  when  he  noticed  how  rapidly  the  tide  was  ad 
vancing. 

That  terrible  tide ! 

134 


Lorelie    Riviere 

Were  it  not  for  the  rush  of  waters  swirling  forward  he 
might  have  thought  that  some  good  fairy  was  favouring 
his  heart's  dearest  wish.  The  loveliest  maiden  whom  he 
had  ever  seen  was  resting  within  his  arms,  dependent 
upon  him  for  safety.  But  what  safety  could  he  give  ? 
Their  position  seemed  hopeless.  The  last  rung  of  the 
middle  ladder  hung  forty  feet  or  more  above  his  head. 
The  lowest  ladder  lay  on  the  sands  in  three  portions,  and 
he  realized  at  a  glance  the  impossibility  of  refixing  them 
in  their  original  position. 

"  No  boat  in  sight !  Impossible  to  scale  the  cliffs ! 
Too  far  to  swim  with  her  to  Ormsby !  What  is  to  be 
our  fate  ?  "  he  muttered. 

Idris  had  often  looked  death  in  the  face,  but  never  in 
circumstances  so  hard  as  these.  Was  he  to  die  holding 
this  fair  maiden  in  his  arms,  helplessly  witnessing  her 
death-gasps  ?  And  the  voice  of  the  sea,  swelling  ever 
higher  and  higher,  seemed  to  give  an  answering  cry  of 
"  Yes,  yes  !  " 

The  breeze  blowing  full  upon  her  face  had  a  reviving 
effect  upon  her.  Slowly  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  a  look 
of  innocent  wonder  came  over  her  face  when  she  met 
Idris'  earnest  gaze  bent  upon  her. 

"  You  fell  from  the  ladder,  you  remember,"  he  said, 
answering  the  question  in  her  eyes.  "  Are  you  hurt  ? 
Have  you  broken  any  bones  ?  " 

"I  —  I  think  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Shall  I  help  you  to  stand  ? " 

She  assented.  But  no  sooner  was  she  raised  to  her 
feet  than  throbs  of  pain  began  to  shoot  through  her  left 
ankle,  and  she  leaned  for  support  against  the  cliff,  resting 
her  right  foot  only  upon  the  sand. 

"  My  ankle  pains  me.     I  don't  think  I  can  walk." 

While  thus  speaking  she  chanced  to  look  upward  at 
the  ladder  hanging  far  above  her  head,  and  then,  lower- 
US 


The  Viking's  Skull 

ing  her  eyes  to  the  flowing  sea,  she  suddenly  took  in  the 
full  peril  of  their  position. 

"  The  tide !  the  tide ! "  she  murmured,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  We  are  lost." 

"  We  certainly  mustn't  remain  here.  And  if  you  can 
not  walk  I  must  carry  you." 

Idris'  cheerful  and  brisk  air  did  not  deceive  her. 
Glancing  from  left  to  right  she  saw  the  futility  of  his  pro 
posal  as  well  as  he  saw  it  himself. 

The  contour  of  the  shore  formed  a  semicircular  bay 
many  miles  in  length,  and  its  sands  were  lined  by  a  wall 
of  lofty  perpendicular  cliffs  without  a  single  gap  to  break 
their  continuity.  Idris  and  his  companion  were  standing 
somewhere  near  the  centre  of  this  curve.  The  tide,  ex 
tending  in  a  straight  line  across  the  bay,  had  now  closed 
in  upon  the  extreme  points  of  the  arc-like  sweep,  and 
was  still  advancing,  covering  the  sand  and  reducing  at 
each  moment  the  extent  of  their  standing  room.  Before 
Idris  could  have  carried  her  half-a-mile  the  sea  would  be 
breaking  many  feet  deep  upon  the  base  of  the  cliffs. 

"  You  cannot  save  me,"  said  Mademoiselle  Riviere,  a 
sudden  calmness  coming  over  her.  "  It  is  impossible. 
You  must  leave  me  and  try  to  save  yourself." 

The  gentle  maiden,  whom  a  harsh  word  melts  to  tears, 
will  often  face  death  with  fortitude,  the  great  crisis  evok 
ing  all  the  latent  heroism  of  her  nature.  So  it  was  now, 
and  Idris,  looking  into  the  depth  of  Mademoiselle 
Riviere's  steadfast  eyes,  caught  a  glimpse  of  how  those 
Christian  women  may  have  looked  who  faced  martyrdom 
in  the  pagan  days  of  old.  Strange  that  a  maiden,  seem 
ingly  so  good  and  brave,  should  have  excited  the  aversion 
of  Beatrice ! 

"  If  you  die,  I  die  with  you,"  said  Idris.  "  But  I  have 
no  intention  of  letting  either  you  or  myself  die.  There 
is  a  way  of  escape  open  to  us." 

136 


Lorelie    Riviere 

For,  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  joy,  he  remembered  that, 
at  a  point  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  their  pres 
ent  position,  he  had  passed  a  great  pile  of  rocks,  fallen 
crags  detached  from  the  sides  of  the  overhanging  preci 
pice.  The  spot  was  invisible  from  where  he  now  stood, 
being  hidden  behind  a  projecting  buttress  of  the  cliff,  but 
he  judged  that  the  summit  of  this  rocky  mass  was  cer 
tainly  above  high-water  mark.  There  he  and  Mademoi 
selle  Riviere  must  remain  till  the  ebb  of  the  tide,  unless 
they  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  attract  the  notice  of 
some  passing  boat. 

Making  known  his  intention,  Idris  added,  "  Pardon 
me  ;  this  is  no  time  for  ceremony." 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  she,  with  a  sudden  and 
natural  revulsion  in  favour  of  life,  submitted  to  his  will, 
placing  her  arms  around  his  neck  to  steady  her  person. 

The  humming  sea,  as  if  bent  on  securing  its  victims, 
came  foaming  with  threatening  rapidity  over  the  bare 
stretch  of  sand,  throwing  forward  long  streamlets,  that, 
like  eager  creatures  in  a  race,  seemed  striving  with  each 
other  to  be  first  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 

Though  Lorelie  Riviere  was  but  a  light  weight  Idris' 
progress  was  necessarily  slow.  At  each  step  his  foot 
sank  deeper  into  the  rapidly-moistening  sand,  and  ere 
long  the  water  itself  was  swirling  round  his  ankles,  and 
flinging  its  sparkling  spray  against  the  base  of  the  preci 
pice.  And  yet  in  all  his  life  he  had  never  experienced 
the  pure  joy  that  filled  him  at  that  moment.  The  woman 
whom  he  most  loved  was  reclining  within  his  arms,  and 
clasped  so  closely  to  him,  that  he  could  feel  her  breast 
swelling  against  his  own,  and  her  hair  touching  his  cheek. 
There  was  a  subtle  charm  in  the  situation  :  what  wonder, 
then,  that  he  desired  to  prolong  it,  and  that  he  moved  at 
a  slower  pace  as  he  drew  near  the  pile  of  fallen  crags  ? 

The  desired  haven  was  gained  at  last,  and  Mademoiselle 

'37 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Riviere,  partly  by  her  own  efforts  and  partly  with  the 
help  of  Idris,  clambered  up  the  face  of  the  slippery  and 
weed-grown  rocks,  the  top  of  which  formed  an  irregular, 
hummocky  platform,  a  few  yards  in  extent. 

"  Saved  !  "  she  murmured,  sinking  down  and  scarcely 
able  to  repress  a  tendency  to  cry.  "  But  will  not  the  tide 
cover  this  ledge  ? " 

"  No.  See  here !  "  replied  Idris,  plucking  a  weed  be 
side  her.  "  Samphire !  It  never  grows  below  salt  water. 
We  are  quite  safe." 

Mademoiselle  Riviere  clasped  her  hands :  her  lips 
moved,  and  Idris  knew  that  she  was  breathing  a  silent 
prayer. 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him 
with  gratitude  shining  from  her  eyes.  "  How  can  I 
thank  you  ?  " 

Though  he  had  seen  Mademoiselle  Riviere  but  once, 
and  then  for  a  moment  only :  though  this  was  his  first 
time  of  conversing  with  her,  Idris  intuitively  felt  that  she 
was  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him :  and  that 
though  happiness  might  be  possible  apart  from  her,  such 
happiness  would  be  but  the  shadow  of  that  derivable 
from  her  undivided  love. 

Fortune  was  certainly  favouring  him.  He  would  have 
given  half  his  wealth  to  any  one  who  could  have  brought 
about  such  a  situation  as  the  present,  and  lo !  the  event 
had  happened  naturally,  of  itself,  and  without  any  pre 
meditation  on  his  part.  It  was  wonderful !  Many  hours 
might  pass  ere  he  and  Mademoiselle  Riviere  could  quit 
the  spot  where  they  now  were.  He  determined  to  make 
good  use  of  this  golden  opportunity.  He  would  exert 
all  his  powers  to  gain  a  place,  if  not  in  her  affection,  at 
least  in  her  friendship,  so  that  her  feeling  on  parting 
from  him  should  contain  something  of  regret. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ?  "  she  repeated. 

138 


Lorelie   Riviere 

"  By  not  thanking  me.  How  did  the  accident 
happen  ?  " 

"  My  hat  was  the  cause  of  it  all.  I  was  standing  on 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  when  the  wind  carried  it  off  to  the 
sands  below.  Not  wishing  to  return  home  bare-headed, 
I  clambered  down  '  The  Stairs  of  David '  after  it.  The 
ladder  gave  way,  and  I  fell.  A  sudden  stop,  and  I  re 
member  no  more." 

"  It  was  well  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  was 
soft  sand,"  said  Idris. 

"  It  was  well,  as  you  say,"  replied  Mademoiselle  Riviere 
with  a  shiver.  "I  shall  never  forget  the  sensation  of 
falling  through  the  air." 

"  Does  your  ankle  still  pain  you  ? "  Idris  asked,  ob 
serving  that  she  shrank  from  placing  her  left  foot  on  the 
ground. 

"  A  little,"  she  smiled. 

"  You  are  sure  it  is  not  dislocated  —  broken  ?  " 

"  O  no ;  it  is  merely  a  sprain.  How  long  shall  we 
have  to  remain  here  ?  "  she  added. 

This  was  a  question  that  Idris  himself  had  been  con 
sidering.  It  appeared  that  Mademoiselle  Riviere,  on 
setting  out  for  her  walk,  had  not  told  any  one  of  the  di 
rection  she  had  intended  to  take  :  Idris  had  been  similarly 
negligent.  Hence  it  was  very  unlikely  that  men  from 
Ormsby  would  come  cruising  along  the  shore  in  boats  to 
search  for  them.  To  scale  the  precipice  was  out  of  the 
question.  To  shout  for  aid  would  be  of  little  avail,  for 
as  the  cliff  above  them  was  lofty,  and  the  highroad  ran 
a  considerable  distance  from  its  edge,  there  was  little 
probability  that  their  voices  would  be  heard.  Their  po 
sition  rendered  it  impossible  to  make  any  signals  that 
would  be  visible  at  Ormsby,  that  town  being  situated 
just  behind  the  cliff  that  formed  one  extremity  of  the  bay. 

"  I  fear,"  said  Idris,  after  considering  all  these  things, 

139 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  that  our  captivity  is  dependent  upon  the  good  graces 
of  the  tide." 

"  And  the  tide  will  be  several  hours  in  turning,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Riviere.  "  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  play 
the  philosopher,  and  accept  the  situation.  It  is  certainly 
better  to  be  here  than  under  the  waves." 

If  her  beauty  charmed  Idris,  her  manner,  pleasant  and 
without  affectation,  charmed  him  still  more. 

So  interested  had  he  been  in  her  companionship  that 
he  had  hitherto  failed  to  notice  that  the  face  of  the  over 
hanging  cliff  was  pierced  by  a  deep  cavern,  the  mouth 
of  which  was  on  a  level  with  the  top  of  their  rocky 
platform. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  said,  stepping  forward  to  take  a 
closer  view.  "  A  cave,  as  I  live.  A  coast-guard's  place 
for  watching  smugglers,  I  suppose." 

"  That  must  be  the '  Hermit's  Cave,' "  said  Mademoiselle 
Riviere,  turning  her  eyes  upon  it,  "  so  named  from  an 
ancient  recluse  who  is  said  to  have  made  it  his  home.  I 
am  told  that  the  chair  in  which  he  sat  is  still  to  be  seen, 
cut  out  of  the  solid  rock." 

"  Excellent !  You  must  occupy  that  seat,  mademoi 
selle.  It  will  be  more  pleasant  there  than  sitting  out 
here  upon  this  slippery  windy  rock." 

She  rose,  glad  of  the  proposed  change,  for  the  wind 
was  playing  confusion  with  her  hair.  Observing  her 
wince,  as  her  left  foot  touched  the  ground,  Idris  said, 
with  a  smile:  — 

"  You  had  better  let  me  carry  you." 

Lorelie  coloured,  neither  assenting  nor  opposing. 
Since  Idris  had  carried  her  once  it  would  be  prudery  to 
resist  now,  and  so,  knowing  that  she  must  either  accept 
his  aid  or  else  crawl  to  the  spot  upon  her  hands  and 
knees,  she  entrusted  herself  to  his  arms,  and  in  this  way 
gained  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  which  was  of  consider- 

140 


Lorelie    Riviere 

able  extent,  and  strewn  with  logs,  planks,  and  odd  pieces 
of  timber. 

"  Where  does  all  this  wood  come  from  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Wreckage-timber,  probably ;  doubtless  placed  here 
by  the  coast-guard  to  be  used  as  firing  in  cold  weather. 
See !  here  is  the  hermit's  seat  you  spoke  of,"  said  Idris, 
indicating  a  piece  of  rock  jutting  from  the  wall  of  the 
cave  near  its  entrance.  It  had  been  hollowed  out  by  art 
into  the  rude  resemblance  of  an  armchair,  and  within 
this  recess  Idris  placed  his  companion. 

"  I  hope  you  dined  well  before  setting  out,"  he  said, 
"  for  our  grotto  offers  nothing  in  the  shape  of  commis 
sariat." 

"  I  am  somewhat  thirsty,"  replied  Lorelie,  as  she  turned 
her  eyes  upon  a  tiny  spring  of  water,  which,  issuing  from 
a  fissure  in  the  wall  of  the  cave,  flowed  silently  down  into 
a  depression  hollowed  out  in  the  floor,  just  beside  the 
hermit's  seat ;  then,  overflowing  from  the  basin  into  a 
groove  of  its  own  making,  the  water  became  lost  in  an 
orifice  a  few  feet  distant. 

"  Here  is  a  remedy  for  thirst,"  said  Idris.  "  The  daily 
drink  of  our  hermit.  '  The  waters  of  Siloah  that  go 
softly,'  was  perhaps  his  name  for  it.  The  eremite's 
crockeryware  having  perished,  how  do  you  propose  to 
drink?" 

"  With  Nature's  cup,"  smiled  Lorelie,  curving  her 
hands  into  the  shape  of  a  bowl. 

Mindful  of  her  ankle  she  slid  cautiously  upon  her  knees 
and  bent,  a  charming  picture,  over  the  pool. 

"  How  clear  and  still,"  she  murmured.  "  Its  surface  is 
like  a  mirror." 

"  Then  do  not  gaze  too  long  upon  it,  lest  you  meet  the 
fate  of  Narcissus." 

"  Narcissus  ?  "  she  repeated,  looking  up  at  him  with  in 
quiring  eyes. 

141 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  He  died  from  the  reflection  of  his  own  loveliness." 

Idris  regretted  his  words  almost  in  the  very  moment 
of  their  utterance,  for  he  could  tell  by  the  sudden  cloud 
ing  of  her  face  that  she  was  averse  to  the  language  of 
gallantry.  Clearly  she  was  not  a  woman  to  be  won  by 
empty  compliment,  and  he  resolved  to  steer  clear  of  such 
a  quicksand.  He  was  glad  to  observe  that  when  she  had 
resumed  her  seat  the  pleasant  smile  was  again  on  her  lip. 

Attentive  to  every  variation  in  her  countenance  he 
began  to  discern  two  moods  in  Lorelie  Riviere :  the  one 
vivacious  and  sprightly,  and  this  seemed  to  be  her  original 
disposition  :  the  other,  pensive  and  sad,  the  result,  so  he 
judged,  of  some  secret  sorrow. 

He  longed  to  know  more  of  this  fair  lady,  slighted  by 
Beatrice ;  the  lady  who  had  once  lived  at  Nantes  in  the 
very  house  that  fronted  the  scene  of  the  murder  of 
Duchesne,  that  murder  for  which  his  father  had  been 
condemned :  the  lady  who  was  erecting  in  St.  Oswald's 
Churchyard  a  marble  cross  inscribed  with  an  epitaph  that 
seemed  almost  applicable  to  his  father's  case :  the  lady 
whose  playing  upon  the  organ  had  wrought  so  weird  an 
effect  upon  his  mind. 

All  these  things  contributed  to  invest  Lorelie  Riviere 
with  a  charming  air  of  mystery,  but  Idris  recognized  that 
the  time  was  not  yet  ripe  to  press  for  confidences. 

Dragging  a  few  logs  forward  he  disposed  them  so  as  to 
form  a  seat  for  himself  near  the  entrance  of  the  cavern, 
remarking  as  he  did  so  :  — 

"  We  must  not  forget  to  look  out  for  passing  boats." 

The  afternoon  sun  was  filling  the  air  with  a  dusky 
golden  glow.  The  waves  dancing  and  sparkling  below 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  flashed  emerald  and  sapphire  hues 
upon  its  roof,  irradiating  the  place  with  an  ever-changing 
light. 

To  Idris  the  situation  was  a  charming  tableau,  a  living 

142 


Lorelie    Riviere 

idyll,  and  one  that  was  rendered  all  the  more  pleasant  by 
contrast  with  their  recent  perilous  position.  Madem 
oiselle  Riviere  trembled  as  she  reflected  on  what  might 
have  happened  but  for  the  chance  passing  of  this  stranger. 
Strange  that  until  this  moment  it  had  not  occurred  to  her 
to  ask  his  name  ! 

"  You  know  my  name,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have  yet  to 
learn  yours." 

"  My  name  is  Breakspear,"  he  replied,  withholding  his 
true  patronymic;  and  feeling  as  he  spoke  a  sense  of 
shame  of  having  to  deceive  her  even  in  so  small  a  matter; 
"  Idris  Breakspear." 

"  Idris  !  "  she  said,  with  a  sudden  start,  as  if  the  name 
had  touched  some  chord  in  her  memory.  "  Idris  !  It  is 
a  somewhat  uncommon  name." 

"  We  will  say,  then,  that  its  rarity  is  a  point  in  its 
favour,"  smiled  Idris,  who  had  observed  her  start,  and 
wondered  at  the  cause. 

"  Have  we  not  met  before,  Mr.  Breakspear?" 

"  I  saw  you  two  days  ago  in  the  Ravengar  Chantry," 
he  replied.  He  did  not  say,  as  he  might  truthfully  have 
said,  that  during  these  two  days  he  had  been  thinking  of 
little  else  but  that  brief  meeting.  "  Miss  Ravengar  and 
I,"  he  continued,  "  had  been  listening  to  your  recital  on 
the  organ.  I  must  congratulate  you  on  your  skill  as  a 
musician,  Mademoiselle  Riviere.  May  I  ask  the  name 
of  the  last  chant  you  played  ?  Was  it  taken  from  some 
oratorio,  or  was  it  your  own  improvisation  ?  " 

"  The  last  chant  ?  "  repeated  Lorelie,  with  a  pensive  air. 
"  Let  me  think  ?  What  was  it  ?  Did  it  run  like  this  ? " 

And  in  a  sweet  silvery  tone  she  trilled  off  a  bar  which 
Idris  immediately  recognized  as  a  part  of  the  refrain  that 
had  been  played  by  her. 

"  That  is  the  '  Ravengar  Funeral  March,' "  explained 
Lorelie.  "  Its  origin  goes  far  back  into  the  depths  of  the 

143 


The  Viking's  Skull 

dark  ages,  tradition  affirming  that  it  is  the  composition 
of  an  ancient  scald,  and  was  first  chanted  at  the  burial 
of  the  old  Norse  chieftain  who  founded  the  Ravengar 
family.  It  has  been  the  custom  to  play  it  at  the  funeral 
of  every  Ravengar,  though  he  would  be  a  bold  person 
who  should  say  that  the  tune  has  not  undergone  varia 
tions  in  its  descent  to  our  times.  The  unknown  minstrel 
with  whom  it  originated  was  a  genius,  a  mediaeval  Mozart. 
Could  you  not  fancy  that  you  heard  the  tread  of  numer 
ous  feet  in  procession,  the  clang  of  shield  and  spear,  the 
groans  of  warriors,  the  plaintive  weeping  of  women  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  was  a  weird  requiem ;  it  moved  me  as  no 
other  piece  of  music  ever  has." 

And  then,  absorbed  in  a  new  idea,  Idris  forgot  for  the 
moment  the  presence  of  even  Lorelie  Riviere. 

"  What  are  these  Ravengars  to  me,"  he  thought,  "  or 
am  I  to  them,  that  their  Funeral  Chant  should  produce 
in  me  such  clairvoyant  sensations  ?  " 

This  question  was  succeeded  by  another.  How  had 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  become  familiar  with  this  requiem  ? 
As  if  in  answer  to  his  thoughts  Lorelie  remarked  :  — 

"  I  heard  Viscount  Walden  play  it  once  in  Venice :  he 
gave  it  as  a  specimen  of  the  weird  and  uncanny  in  music. 
It  so  took  my  fancy  that  I  did  not  rest  till  I  had  obtained 
a  copy  of  it." 

It  was  somewhat  disquieting  to  learn  that  she  had  met 
Lord  Walden  abroad,  and  that  she  was  on  terms  of  suffi 
cient  friendship  to  beg  from  him  a  copy  of  music.  Had 
this  friendship  changed  into  something  deeper  ?  Was  he 
to  regard  Lord  Walden  in  the  light  of  a  rival  ?  Had 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  come  to  Ormsby  in  order  to  be 
near  the  viscount  ?  In  saving  her  from  being  over 
whelmed  by  the  tide  Idris  had  doubtless  gained  a  high 
place  in  her  favour,  but  then  gratitude  is  not  love,  and 
Ravenhall  and  a  coronet  were  powerful  attractions. 

144 


Lorelie    Riviere 

"  Do  you  often  play  at  St.  Oswald's  Church  ? "  he 
asked,  after  an  interval  of  silence. 

"  Yes.     I  find  a  charm  in  its  '  dim  religious  light.'  " 

"  And  the  quietude  of  the  place,"  said  Idris,  "  is  also 
favourable  to  the  study  of  mediaeval  historians  —  Paulus 
Diaconus,  for  example." 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  said,  "  so  it  was  you  who 
carried  off  my  book  from  the  organ-loft.  I  guessed  as 
much  when  I  went  back,  and  found  it  gone.  You  must 
not  forget  to  return  it,  for  I  value  it  highly.  Now,  con 
fess,  that  you  have  wondered  why  I,  a  woman,  should 
take  to  poring  over  that  old  Lombard  historian  ?  " 

"  Curiosity  is  not  confined  to  the  sex  with  whom  it  is 
supposed  to  have  originated,"  smiled  Idris,  "  and  I  am 
willing  to  admit,  mademoiselle,  that  I  have  been  puzzled. 
The  book  does  not  belong  to  the  style  of  literature  us 
ually  patronized  by  ladies." 

"  Merci !  I  regard  that  last  remark  as  a  compliment. 
Well,  I  will  explain  the  mystery,  if  you  will  promise  to 
keep  the  matter  a  secret."  And  upon  Idris  giving  his 
assurance,  she  continued  :  "  I  am  trying  to  write  a  poet 
ical  play,  a  tragedy  relating  to  the  times  of  the  Italo- 
Lombard  kings,  and  as  I  do  not  wish  to  commit  anach 
ronisms,  it  behoves  me  to  study  the  historical  authorities 
in  the  original." 

"  I  understand,"  answered  Idris,  his  opinion  of  Lorelie 
rising  higher  than  ever :  besides  being  a  musician  and  a 
Latin  scholar,  she  was  also  a  poetess  !  "  And  what  are 
you  going  to  call  your  play  ?  " 

"  <  The  Fatal  Skull/  "  she  replied.  "  You  look  sur 
prised,  Mr.  Breakspear.  Is  there  already  a  play  of  that 
name  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  of  it." 

"  Because  one  must  not  borrow  another  author's  title, 
is  it  not  so  ?  " 

10  MS 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  The  Fatal  Skull  /"  Idris  could  not  but  think  it  a 
curious  coincidence  that  Lorelie's  drama  should  bear  such 
a  title,  when  he  himself  at  this  time  was  much  interested 
in  a  skull,  to  wit,  that  of  Orm  the  Viking. 

"  Why  so  weird  a  title,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  appropriate  to  the  leading  incident  in  the 
piece :  for  the  play  turns  on  the  famous  historic  banquet 
at  which  the  Lombard  Queen  Rosamond  was  forced  by 
her  husband  to  drink  from  her  father's  skull.  So  now 
you  understand,  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  went  on,  "  that 
wherever  the  words  '  Fatal  Skull,'  or  the  initials  '  F.  S.,' 
occur  in  the  margin  of  my  book,  they  mean  that  there  is 
something  in  the  passage  thus  marked  capable  of  being 
worked  into  my  drama." 

"  And  when  do  you  intend  to  publish  it  ?  " 

"  Not  yet :  perhaps  never.  I  write,  not  for  fame,  but 
for  my  own  pleasure." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  mademoiselle.  If  one  has  noble 
thoughts  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  hearing  them. 
I  hope,  therefore,  to  see  the  day  when  your  work  will  be 
published :  nay,  more,  I  hope  to  see  it  acted." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  murmured.  The 
light  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes,  and  the  colour  mantling  her 
cheek,  so  enhanced  her  beauty  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
the  impulsive  Idris  could  repress  the  temptation  of  telling 
her  of  his  love.  But,  even  as  he  watched,  the  look  of 
pleasure  faded  from  her  face,  and  there  succeeded  the 
melancholy  air  that  he  had  previously  noticed,  an  air  that 
said  almost  as  plainly  as  words,  "  I  am  forgetting  myself: 
it  is  not  for  me  to  be  glad." 

Yet  the  smile  returned  to  her  lip  when  Idris  ventured 
upon  a  suggestion. 

"  I  see  neither  boat  nor  vessel  within  hail,"  he  remarked, 
glancing  over  the  sea.  "  We  have  several  hours  yet  be 
fore  us.  Now  in  the  Christmas  tales,  yoa  know,  when 

146 


Lorelie    Riviere 

the  stage-coach  passengers  are  snowed  up  at  the  country- 
inn,  or  the  sea-voyagers  wrecked  on  the  lonely  isle,  they 
always  beguile  the  time  by  story-telling.  It's  the  or 
thodox  thing  to  do.  Suppose  we  imitate  them." 

"  A  good  idea !  and,"  added  Lorelie  archly,  "  it  be 
comes  the  mover  of  the  proposition  to  take  the  initia 
tive." 

"  Caught  in  the  net  I  was  preparing  for  another ! " 
smiled  Idris.  "  I  was  hoping  to  hear  you  recite  some 
portions  of  your  play.  But  that  will  come  later.  Well, 
mademoiselle,  what  shall  my  story  be  ?  " 

"  You  said  a  while  ago  that  you  have  led  a  somewhat 
adventurous  life,  and  that  you  once  took  part  in  a  battle. 
I  call  for  some  of  your  adventures." 

"  You  flatter  my  vanity.  A  man's  self  is  an  insidious 
theme.  The  Apologia  pro  mea  vita  is  rarely  to  be  trusted, 
the  author  being  naturally  prone  to  magnify  his  virtues, 
and  minimize  his  faults.  Always  receive  the  autobiog 
raphy  cum  grano  salts." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Lorelie,  with  a  smile  irresistible  in 
its  witchery.  "  Begin  your  story,  and  I  will  supply  the 
granum  salis  as  you  proceed." 

Vain  was  it  for  Idris  to  protest.  She  was  not  to  be 
deterred  from  her  purpose  of  hearing  something  of  his 
personal  history ;  and,  accordingly,  after  due  reflection, 
he  proceeded  to  relate  some  of  his  experiences  in  the 
Grseco-Turkish  War  of  '97,  in  which  he  had  taken  a  part, 
in  common  with  some  other  Englishmen  of  adventurous 
spirit. 

Idris  was  master  of  a  certain  natural  eloquence,  an  elo 
quence  very  effective  in  the  case  of  an  imaginative  maiden. 
At  any  rate  Lorelie  seemed  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  his 
words.  Never  before  had  he  seen  so  attentive  a  listener. 
Her  face,  like  water  lit  by  the  changing  rays  of  the  sun, 
reflected  all  the  varying  expressions  on  his  own  counte- 

147 


The  Viking's  Skull 

nance,  as  he  passed  from  grave  to  gay,  from  scene  to 
scene. 

A  significant  incident  occurred  during  the  telling  of 
these  reminiscences. 

He  was  relating  that  on  one  occasion  he  had  been  en 
trusted  by  a  Greek  commander  with  the  task  of  convey 
ing  a  secret  dispatch  to  a  village  beyond  the  enemy's 
lines.  The  ordinary  route  to  this  place  ran  through  a 
mountain-pass,  which  at  that  time  was  carefully  guarded 
by  Bashi-Bazouks.  Idris,  therefore,  determined  to  scale 
the  face  of  an  almost  perpendicular  cliff,  and  passing,  as 
it  were,  above  the  heads  of  the  watchers,  come  out  in 
their  rear.  When  he  was  three-fourths  of  the  way  up  the 
cliff  his  heart  almost  leaped  into  his  mouth  as  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  Bashi-Bazouk,  dagger  in  hand,  waiting  for 
him  at  the  top.  The  shades  of  twilight  were  falling :  to 
descend  was  impossible :  to  go  upward  was  to  meet  cer 
tain  death :  yet  upward  he  continued  to  pull  himself, 
little  by  little,  hoping  that  by  some  good  fortune  he 
might  be  able  to  outwit  the  armed  watcher.  In  graphic 
language  he  painted  his  sensations  as  none  could,  save 
those  only  who  have  been  in  a  position. 

At  this  point  Lorelie's  interest  became  intense,  even 
painful.  So  vivid  was  her  realization  of  the  scene  that 
she  seemed  at  that  very  moment  to  see  Idris  before  her, 
clinging  feebly  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  in  the  dusky  gloom, 
with  the  savage  enemy  above  him  dealing  the  death- 
stroke.  She  leaned  forward  in  her  seat  with  parted  lips  : 
then,  quite  unconsciously,  and  all-forgetful  of  her  sprained 
ankle,  she  half  rose  with  her  arm  extended  as  if  to  ward 
off  the  coming  blow. 

"  O,  but  you  are  here"  she  murmured,  realizing  her 
mistake.  "  How  absurd  of  me  !  "  and,  with  a  heightened 
colour,  she  sank  back  in  confusion. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  replied  Idris,  his  heart  leaping  with 

148 


Lorelie    Riviere 

delight  at  this  proof  of  her  interest  in  his  welfare. 
"  Near  the  summit  of  the  cliff  was  a  narrow  shelf  of 
rock :  on  this  ledge  I  lay  down  and  waited,  with  my  re 
volver  pointing  to  the  night  sky.  I  knew  that  my  gen 
tleman  would  peep  over  again  presently  to  mark  my 
progress.  He  did.  What  the  kites  left  of  him  you'll 
find  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff." 

If  pleasure  at  the  death  of  a  fellow-mortal  be  an  anti- 
Christian  feeling,  it  must  be  confessed  that  Lorelie 
Riviere  had  little  of  the  Christian  in  her  at  that  moment. 

Now  that  he  had  once  entered  upon  his  personal  his 
tory,  she  would  not  let  him  quit  it,  betraying  such  interest 
that  Idris  almost  wondered  whether  she  had  a  secret 
motive  in  wishing  to  hear  his  biography. 

The  most  romantic  part  of  his  career,  however,  namely, 
that  relating  to  the  runic  ring  and  the  quest  for  his  father, 
he  carefully  reserved,  giving  instead  an  account  of  his 
travels  through  Europe,  and  recalling  many  a  curious 
legend  from  "  out-of-the-way  "  places. 

Long  ere  Lorelie  was  sated  with  these  reminiscences 
the  first  stars  of  night  glimmered  in  the  blue  air  above : 
and,  that  nothing  might  be  wanting  to  complete  a  ro 
mantic  situation,  the  moon,  rising  in  all  her  glory  from 
the  depth  of  ocean,  silvered  with  its  radiance  the  en 
trance  of  the  cave.  The  light  passed  within  bringing 
into  relief  the  statuesque  pose  of  Lorelie's  figure.  It 
gleamed  on  her  wealth  of  raven  hair,  and  hallowed  her 
face  with  new  and  mystic  beauty,  as,  with  her  cheek  pil 
lowed  on  her  hands,  she  sat  attentive  to  Idris,  drinking 
in  his  words  as  the  fabled  Oriental  bird  is  said  to  drink 
the  moonbeams. 

So  lovely  and  interested  a  listener  might  well  have 
turned  the  head  of  the  frostiest  hermit.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  the  one  thought  in  Idris'  mind  at  this  moment 
was :  —  "  O  that  this  might  last  forever !  " 

149 


CHAPTER  IX 

IDRIS    MEETS    A    RIVAL 

OBSERVING  a  shiver  on  the  part  of  Lorelie,  due 
to  the  chilly  air,  Idris  rose  to  put  into  effect  a 
plan    that    had    suddenly    occurred    to    him. 
Charming  as  the  situation  was  to  himself,  he  had  no  wish 
to  prolong  it  at  the  expense  of  discomfort  to  his  com 
panion. 

"  '  Ye  gods,  I  grow  a  talker.'  I  do  wrong  to  sit  here 
inactive.  The  air  is  becoming  cold.  Since  no  boat  has 
hove  in  sight  it  is  time  we  tried  to  attract  one.  Some  of 
this  timber,  piled  upon  the  rocks  at  the  entrance  of  our 
cave,  and  set  alight,  will  '  contrive  a  double  debt  to  pay ' 
—  of  giving  warmth  to  yourself,  and  of  serving  as  a 
signal-fire  to  the  coast-guard  of  Ormsby." 

Collecting  a  supply  of  logs  and  planks,  Idris  proceeded 
to  form  them  into  a  little  pyramid  upon  the  boulders 
outside  the  mouth  of  the  cavern.  He  applied  a  lighted 
match  to  the  pile,  and  within  a  few  minutes  a  glorious 
bonfire  was  blazing  upon  the  rock,  challenging  the  pale 
light  of  the  moon,  and  flinging  a  ruddy  glow  over  the 
breast  of  the  heaving  waters  around. 

"  Now,  Mademoiselle  Riviere,  if  you  will  sit  in  this 
nook  here,  you  will  be  both  sheltered  from  the  wind  and 
warmed  by  the  fire." 

Lorelie  accepted  the  suggestion  :  and,  as  her  ankle  was 
still  painful,  she  permitted  Idris  to  assist  her  to  the 
assigned  spot,  where  she  sat,  pleased  with  the  cheerful 
warmth. 

150 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

"  This  blaze  ought  surely  to  be  seen  and  understood  as 
a  signal  of  distress,"  said  Idris. 

As  he  stared  at  the  distant  moonlit  cliff  behind  which 
the  town  of  Ormsby  lay  hidden,  he  suddenly  became 
aware  that  Lorelie  was  speaking. 

"  Idris  !     Idris  !  " 

He  turned  quickly  with  a  curious  feeling.  Surely  she 
was  not  addressing  him  by  his  Christian  name  ?  Let  his 
name  sound  ever  so  silvery  as  it  came  from  her  lips,  still, 
this  mode  of  address  in  a  friendship  so  recently  formed  as 
theirs,  was  a  familiarity  which  jarred  upon  him. 

"  Idris  !     Idris  !  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle  Riviere,"  he  replied,  with  a  cold 
and  significant  emphasis  upon  the  second  word. 

But  he  found  her  eyes  fixed,  not  upon  him,  but  upon 
the  flames.  He  followed  the  direction  of  her  gaze  and 
beheld  a  surprising  sight.  There,  burning  in  the  fire,  was 
a  thick  piece  of  planking,  and  on  the  part  of  it  not  yet 
consumed  were  five  black-painted  letters,  forming  in  their 
arrangement  the  word  :  — 

"  I-D-R-I-S  !  " 

His  own  name  !  Yes  :  there  it  was,  plain  to  be  seen 
on  the  plank,  the  black  characters  shining  out  clearly 
through  the  yellow  flame. 

Lorelie  had  simply  been  murmuring  the  word  as  it 
caught  her  eyes,  without  any  intention  of  addressing  him 
by  it. 

How  came  his  name  to  be  inscribed  on  this  piece  of 
timber  ?  If  the  materials  composing  the  fire  were  drift 
wood  picked  up  from  the  beach  (and  he  did  not  doubt 
that  such  was  the  origin  of  the  timber  in  the  cave),  then 
this  plank  was  probably  a  relic  of  a  sunken  vessel,  the 
word  Idris  forming  its  name. 

Was  there  any  connection  between  himself  and  this 
lost  barque  other  than  mere  identity  of  name  ? 


The  Viking's  Skull 

His  active  mind,  eager  to  give  an  affirmative  to  this 
question,  immediately  devised  a  theory.  Captain  Roche- 
fort,  on  flying  from  Brittany  with  Eric  Marville,  would 
be  compelled  by  considerations  of  safety  either  to  dis 
guise  and  rename  the  yacht  in  which  the  flight  had  been 
effected,  or,  what  was  more  probable,  dispose  of  the 
Nemesis  in  some  way,  and  purchase  another  vessel. 
That  Captain  Rochefort  had  so  acted,  naming  his  new 
barque  after  the  son  of  his  escaped  friend,  became  Idris' 
firm  conviction  :  for,  lost  to  reason  in  his  excitement,  he 
overlooked  the  possibility  that  other  yacht-owners  might 
have  a  partiality  for  the  same  name. 

The  plank  now  burning  before  his  eyes  had  come  from 
the  figure-head  of  the  yacht  in  which  his  father  and 
Captain  Rochefort  had  cruised  about,  after  disposing  of 
the  Nemesis. 

What  more  likely  than  that,  on  discovering  the  mean 
ing  of  the  Norse  runes  (a  copy  of  which  had  been  made 
by  Rochefort  while  the  altar-ring  was  in  his  possession), 
the  two  friends,  in  a  spirit  of  adventure,  should  steer  their 
yacht's  course  to  Ormsby,  the  site  of  the  supposed 
treasure  ?  And  here  off  this  coast  their  vessel  had 
foundered. 

This  conclusion,  if  correct,  would  seem  almost  to 
justify  the  idea  that  it  was  impossible  to  escape  from  the 
malign  influence  of  Odin's  ring. 

Desire  for  its  possession  had  led  Eric  Marville  into  a 
mischance  that  had  doomed  him  to  a  prison-life :  he  had 
escaped  from  the  convict's  cell,  and  had  wrested  the 
secret  from  the  runic  ring,  only  to  meet  with  a  watery 
grave  in  sight  of  the  very  treasure-hill  that  he  had  come 
to  explore  ! 

But,  stay !  had  Eric  Marville  and  Captain  Rochefort 
perished  in  the  fierce  currents  of  Ormsby  Race,  or  had 
one,  or  both,  been  washed  ashore  alive  ?  Was  the 

152 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

removal  of  the  Viking's  treasure  due  to  one  of  them,  or 
to  the  joint  action  of  the  two  ? 

So  occupied  was  Idris  with  these  thoughts  that  he  had 
almost  forgotten  the  presence  of  Lorelie,  but  now,  on 
glancing  at  her,  he  noticed  that  her  face  wore  a  grave, 
not  to  say  startled,  expression,  obviously  due  to  the  name 
that  had  been  so  strangely  presented  to  her  view.  The 
discovery  seemed  to  disquiet  her  as  much  as  it  disquieted 
himself. 

Then  in  a  moment  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  dead  in 
Saint  Oswald's  Churchyard,  whose  grave  she  was  decking 
with  a  marble  cross,  were  men  who  had  perished  in  the 
sinking  of  this  same  vessel,  The  Idris,  Lorelie  could 
explain  the  mystery,  if  she  chose.  He  resolved  to  ques 
tion  her. 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere,"  he  began,  in  an  earnest 
tone,  "  I  believe  it  is  within  your  power  to  throw  some 
light  upon  a  matter  that,  to  me,  is  one  almost  of  life  and 
death.  Pardon  me,  if  I  presume  too  much  on  our  very 
recent  friendship.  To  come  to  the  point,  I  beg,  nay,  I 
entreat  of  you,  to  tell  me  all  you  know  concerning  the 
vessel  whose  timbers  we  see  burning  before  us,  the  yacht 
Idris,  that  went  down  in  Ormsby  Race  on  the  night  of 
the  thirteenth  of  October,  1876." 

Swift  surprise  stole  over  Lorelie's  face. 

"  And  why  should  you  think  that  /know  anything  of 
that  lost  vessel  ?  " 

"  Ah !  mademoiselle,  you  are  not  erecting  a  costly 
memorial  over  the  grave  of  men  of  whom  you  know 
nothing." 

Lorelie  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  reflecting 
how  to  answer  an  obviously  embarrassing  question. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  will  admit  that  I  do 
know  something  of  that  lost  vessel,  and  that  I  have  taken 
a  deep  interest  in  it." 

153 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  The  vessel  carried  some  one  dear  to  you  ?  " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Breakspear,  you  are  very  curious,"  she 
cried,  with  a  flash  of  her  bright  eyes.  "  Before  answering 
I  must  know  the  motive  for  this  catechism." 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe,"  answered  Idris, "  that  there 
was  on  board  one,  Eric  Marville  by  name." 

"  And  what,"  asked  Lorelie  —  and  at  the  chilling  fall 
in  her  voice  Idris  started  — "  what  is  Eric  Marville  to 
you,  that  you  should  take  an  interest  in  his  fate?  " 

For  a  moment  Idris  hesitated,  loth  to  tell  the  woman 
whom  he  loved  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  fugitive  convict. 
Then  he  resolved  to  be  frank,  believing  that  if  she  were 
a  true  woman  she  would  not  despise  him  for  a  misfortune 
not  of  his  own  causing. 

"  Eric  Marville,"  he  answered  humbly,  "  is  my  father's 
name." 

At  these  words  Lorelie  Riviere  shrank  back  in  the 
Hermit's  Seat,  staring  at  Idris,  her  face  white,  her  hand 
lifted  to  her  side. 

"Your  father?"  she  gasped.  "You  Eric  Marville's 
son  — you  ?  " 

"  The  same,  mademoiselle." 

"  No,  no.  It  cannot  be.  You  have  said  that  your 
name  is  Breakspear." 

"  For  obvious  reasons  I  have  thought  proper  to  assume 
my  mother's  maiden  name." 

"  Eric  Marville's  son  !  "  she  repeated  wildly.  "  Impos 
sible!  I  will  not  believe  it."  Her  wildness  suddenly 
gave  way  to  an  air  of  disdain,  and  she  exclaimed : 
"  Why  do  you  seek  to  impose  upon  me  ?  Idris  Marville 
was  burned  to  death  at  Paris  seven  years  ago." 

"  Not  so,"  replied  Idris,  with  a  smile,  as  he  proceeded 
to  give  his  reasons  for  permitting  himself  to  be  advertised 
as  dead. 

As  Lorelie  became  gradually  convinced  of  his  identity 

154 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

a  look  of  dismay  came  over  her  face.  She  shrank  from 
him,  and  glanced  down  upon  the  sea,  as  if  tempted  to 
plunge  beneath  its  surface. 

"  To  think  that  you,  you  of  all  persons,"  she  murmured 
in  a  tone  of  awe,  "  should  have  saved  my  life  !  " 

"  Then  by  that  fact,  mademoiselle,  I  entreat  you  to  tell 
me  whether  my  father  perished  in  that  shipwreck.  You 
doubtless  know  something  of  his  sad  history?" 

"  I  ought  to  know,"  she  returned, "  seeing  that  my  real 
name  is  Lorelie  Rochefort." 

"  What  do  you  say  ? "  cried  Idris  in  amazement. 
"  You  are  the  daughter  of  Captain  Noel  Rochefort  ?  " 

She  inclined  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Then  we  shall  be  the  best  of  friends,  as  our  fathers 
were  before  us." 

"  You  speak  without  knowledge,"  she  replied,  with  a 
curious  dry  laugh. 

"  Did  not  Captain  Rochefort  prove  his  friendship  by 
aiding  my  father  to  escape  ?  " 

"  At  my  mother's  urging :  he  would  not  otherwise 
have  moved  in  the  matter." 

"  Why  was  Madame  Rochefort  so  anxious  to  see  my 
father  free  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  ask  me  that,"  replied  Lorelie  quickly, 
and  looking  alarmed  the  moment  afterwards,  as  if  be 
trayed  into  a  rash  statement. 

This  was  certainly  a  strange  answer,  and  Idris  pondered 
over  it  in  the  silence  that  followed.  There  seemed  no 
other  explanation  of  her  words  than  that  there  had 
existed  a  guilty  love-intrigue  between  Madame  Roche- 
fort  and  Eric  Marville.  Was  it  possible  that  Lorelie  her 
self  was  the  offspring  of ?  With  a  shiver  he  put 

the  suspicion  aside.     No  :  he  would  not  think  that! 

"  Is  Captain  Rochefort  still  living?  " 

"  It  is  extremely  unlikely." 

155 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  He  went  down  with  the  yacht  Idris  ?  " 

"  In  all  probability." 

"  He  was  not  among  the  bodies  washed  ashore  ?  " 

"  They  were  bruised  and  swollen  beyond  recognition." 

"  Was  my  father  on  board  the  yacht  the  night  it 
sank  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  gather  he  was  not." 

"  Not  ?  "  said  Idris,  in  a  tone  of  joy.  "  Then  he  may 
still  be  living.  May  I  ask,  mademoiselle,  how  you  have 
learned  this  ?  " 

"  From  my  father's  last  letter  to  my  mother,  with 
whom  he  kept  up  a  correspondence  during  his  cruise. 
The  letter  is  dated  '  The  yacht  Idris.  In  Ormsby  Roads, 
October  I3th,  1876.  7  p.  M.,'  and  the  postscript  is  some 
thing  to  this  effect, '  Marville  is  going  ashore,  leaving  me 
aboard.  He  will  not  return  till  the  morrow.  I  am 
despatching  this  letter  to  the  post  by  the  sailor  who  rows 
Marville  ashore.'  Those  are  the  last  words  my  mother 
received.  That  same  night,  four  hours  after  the  letter 
was  written,  the  Idris  went  down." 

"  And  you  cannot  tell  me  whether  my  father  is  living 
to-day?" 

"  I  know  nothing  more  of  Eric  Marville  since  the  night 
of  the  wreck." 

"  You  have  preserved  all  your  father's  letters  ?  " 

"  Naturally." 

Idris  here  ventured  on  a  very  bold  request. 

"  Would  it  be  asking  too  much  to  let  me  see  this  corre 
spondence,  or  at  least,  some  part  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  were  to  give  me  a  diamond  for  each  word 
it  contained,"  she  said  firmly. 

"  At  least,  mademoiselle,"  he  continued  more  humbly, 
"  you  will  give  me  the  purport  of  those  passages  that 
relate  to  my  father?  " 

"  That  would  be  to  compromise  myself." 

156 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

"  Whatever  secrets  those  letters  contain  shall  be  re 
spected  by  me." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Lorelie  sadly.  "  Mr.  Breakspear,  Idris 
Marville,  or  whatever  name  you  will,  I  believe  you  to  be 
a  man  of  honour 

"  Then  why  not  trust  me  ?" 

"  Because  you  would  consider  yourself  justified  in 
breaking  your  pledge  of  secrecy.  I  dare  not  trust  you. 
No  oath  could  be  binding  in  such  a  case  as  this.  You 
would  proclaim  aloud  to  the  world  the  contents  of  those 
letters." 

In  spite  of  her  words,  Idris,  with  justifiable  curiosity, 
continued  to  press  her  with  questions  relative  to  his  fa 
ther's  movements  after  the  flight  from  Quilaix,  but  to  all 
his  interrogations  Lorelie  remained  coldly  mute. 

"  And  you  will  tell  me  nothing  more  than  you  have 
told  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

His  sorrowful  tone  seemed  to  touch  her  to  the  quick. 
The  icy  expression  faded  from  her  face  and  gave  way  to 
one  of  warmth  and  tenderness.  Her  eyes  became 
luminous  with  tears,  but,  as  if  desirous  of  resisting  his 
pleading,  she  averted  her  head  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  Do  not  question  me  further,"  she  entreated.  "  Not 
to  answer  is  painful,  but  to  answer  would  be  more  pain 
ful  still.  O,  why  did  you  reveal  your  true  name  ?  I 
shall  never  be  happy  again.  If  I  had  but  known  you 
twelve  months  ago,  all  would  have  been  well,  but  now  — 
now  it  is  too  late.  In  revealing  what  you  wish,  nay, 
what  you  ought  to  know,  I  should  be  injuring  the 
interests  of,  not  myself,  for  that  would  matter  little,  but 
the  interests  of  others.  You  do  not  understand  —  how 
should  you  ?  —  but  some  day  you  will  learn  my  mean 
ing,  and  then  —  and  then "  her  voice  faltered,  "  how 

the  world  will  despise  me !  you  more  than  all  others. 

157 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Mr.  Breakspear,  if  you  knew  my  real  character  you 
would  have  left  me  lying  on  the  sand  to  be  overwhelmed 
by  the  tide.  I  would  that  you  had  !  " 

Though  Idris  knew  not  what  meaning  to  affix  to  this 
speech,  it  did  not  abate  in  one  degree  his  love  for  her : 
nay,  her  very  air  of  humiliation,  plaintive  and  touching, 
served  only  to  enhance  her  attractiveness.  When  he  re 
called  the  heroic  look  upon  her  face  in  the  presence  of 
death,  and  the  clasping  of  her  hands  in  prayer  upon  her 
deliverance,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  think  ill  of 
her.  Her  mysterious  self-accusations  must  be  the  result 
of  some  delusion  :  or,  if  something  did  attach  to  her  that 
the  world  would  call  guilt,  he  did  not  doubt  that  justifica 
tion  would  be  found  for  it. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  with  a  grave  smile,  "  you 
seem  to  regard  me  in  the  light  of  an  enemy,  when  my 
chief  desire  is  to  occupy  a  high  place  in  your  friendship." 
He  would  have  said  "  heart "  had  he  dared.  "  Since  the 
subject  of  the  yacht  is  painful  to  you,  I  will  not  refer  to 
it  again  in  your  presence." 

"  Then  my  reticence  will  not  make  an  enemy  of 
you  ? "  asked  Lorelie,  raising  her  beautiful  eyes  with  a 
yearning  in  them  that  moved  him  strangely. 

"  Certainly  not,  mademoiselle.  Let  me  know  that 
you  do  not  despise  me  on  account  of  my  father's  guilt, 
or  supposed  guilt,  and  I  am  content." 

"  Despise  you  ?  Oh,  no !  How  can  you  say  that  ? 
Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  continued,  with  a  faltering  voice, 
"if — if  there  be  one  circumstance  more  than  another 
that  enlists  my  sympathies  in  your  behalf,  it  is  —  the  — 
the  event  of  which  you  speak." 

The  pitying  look  in  her  eyes  caused  Idris'  blood  to 
course  like  liquid  fire  through  his  veins.  Had  she  been 
the  guiltiest  woman  living  that  glance  would  have 
palliated  all  and  have  made  him  her  slave  forever. 

158 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

There  is  no  knowing  what  he  might  have  said  or  done 
at  this  moment  had  he  not  been  checked  by  a  sudden 
exclamation  from  her.  Looking  in  the  direction  in 
dicated  by  her  he  saw  a  boat  rowed  by  seven  of  the 
Ormsby  fishermen  coming  over  the  waves  towards  them 
in  gallant  style. 

"  Our  imprisonment  is  drawing  to  an  end,"  said  Idris, 
adding  to  himself,  "  the  more's  the  pity." 

The  sight  of  the  approaching  boat  seemed  to  put  an 
end  to  Lorelie's  emotion.  She  began  to  regain  some 
thing  of  her  former  sweet  self. 

By  her  own  unaided  efforts  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and 
leaning  against  the  rock,  waved  her  handkerchief  as  an 
encouragement  to  the  rowers.  A  cheer  broke  from  the 
men  as  soon  as  they  recognized  her ;  for,  by  reason  of 
her  liberality  to  the  poor  of  Ormsby,  Mademoiselle 
Riviere  had  become,  at  least  among  the  lower  orders  of 
the  town,  a  favourite  second  only  to  Beatrice  Ravengar 
herself. 

Ere  long  the  boat's  side  grated  against  the  rock,  and 
Lorelie,  assisted  by  Idris  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  a 
gallant  fisherman  on  the  other,  was  lifted  down  from 
point  to  point,  and  finally  lodged  in  the  bow  of  the  rock 
ing  boat,  Idris  taking  his  seat  beside  her. 

The  still-flaming  timbers  of  the  fire  having  been  ex 
tinguished  by  the  easy  process  of  tossing  them  into  the 
sea,  the  men  pushed  off,  and  the  Hermit's  Cave  rapidly 
receded  from  view. 

In  answer  to  the  questioning  of  her  rescuers  Lorelie 
gave  an  account  of  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to 
the  enforced  captivity  of  herself  and  Idris,  adding  :  — 

"  We  owe  you  something  more  substantial  than  thanks 
for  responding  so  quickly  to  our  fire-signal." 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  "  responded  one  of  the  crew  gallantly, 
"  to  rescue  such  a  bonny  bird  we  would  row  fifty  miles." 

159 


The  Viking's  Skull 

They  created  quite  a  sensation  as  they  drew  near  the 
beach  of  Ormsby,  where  a  miscellaneous  crowd  was  as 
sembled  ;  for  the  news  had  been  spread  abroad  by 
Lorelie's  frightened  maid  that  her  mistress  had  been 
missing  since  the  morning,  and,  accordingly,  it  had  been 
conjectured  that  the  strange  light  visible  at  the  foot  of 
the  distant  cliff  might  have  some  connection  with  her 
disappearance.  And  when  it  was  seen  that  the  ap 
proaching  boat  contained  the  missing  lady  there  arose  an 
outburst  of  cheering  and  a  waving  of  hats,  that  drew  the 
colour  to  her  hitherto  pale  cheek. 

Among  the  first  to  meet  the  boat  at  the  water's  edge 
was  Godfrey ;  and  on  learning  that  Lorelie  had  hurt  her 
foot,  nothing  less  would  satisfy  him  than  an  immediate 
inspection  of  her  ankle. 

"  The  case  may  be  more  serious  than  you  think  it," 
said  he. 

So  Lorelie,  escorted  by  Idris  and  Godfrey,  repaired, 
under  smiling  protest,  to  the  parlour  of  a  cottage  fronting 
the  beach,  where,  after  due  examination,  the  surgeon  pro 
nounced  the  injury  to  be  nothing  more  serious  than  a 
sprain. 

"  Still,  you  must  not  set  your  foot  to  the  ground  just 
yet,"  he  added.  "  We  will  procure  a  carriage  to  take  you 
home." 

Scarcely  had  he  said  this  when  the  rattle  of  wheels  was 
heard  outside.  A  vehicle  of  some  sort  had  drawn  up  in 
front  of  the  cottage.  A  minute  afterwards  the  parlour 
door  opened  giving  entrance  to  Viscount  Walden. 

His  acknowledgment  of  the  surgeon  was  limited  to, 
"  Ah !  Godfrey : "  of  Idris  he  took  no  notice  at  all. 
Walking  up  to  Lorelie  he  smiled  in  a  manner  which 
showed  that  they  were  no  strangers  to  each  other,  and 
Godfrey,  recalling  the  viscount's  utterances  in  the  crypt 
of  Rayenhall,  "  I  hope  Lorelie  will  be  satisfied,"  looked 

160 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

on  at  their  meeting  with  considerable  interest,  wonder 
ing  whether  there  really  were  some  guilty  secret  between 
them. 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  in 
England,"  said  Ivar.  "  Passing  along  the  road  outside 
and  observing  the  crowd  in  front  of  this  cottage  I  stopped 
my  carriage  to  ascertain  the  cause.  Imagine  my  surprise 
on  learning  that  you  were  within.  Welcome  to  Ormsby  ! 
You  find  our  climate  a  little  trying,  I  expect,  after  the 
sunny  air  and  the  blue  skies  of  the  Riviera  ?  You  have 
sprained  your  ankle,  I  understand,  and  find  a  difficulty  in 
walking.  If  you  desire  a  carriage  to  convey  you  home, 
mine  is  at  your  service." 

Ivar's  proposal  to  carry  off  Lorelie  in  his  own  carnage 
roused  all  Idris'  jealousy,  of  which  he  had  the  ordinary 
mortal's  share.  It  was  not  very  agreeable  to  hear  Lorelie 
assenting,  and  to  observe  that  she  smiled  upon  Ivar  as 
pleasantly  as  she  had  smiled  upon  himself. 

With  a  motion  of  her  hand  she  directed  the  viscount's 
attention  to  Idris. 

"  Lord  Walden,  Mr. " 

"  Breakspear,"  interposed  Idris  quickly,  fearing  lest 
she  should  inadvertently  pronounce  the  name  of  Mar- 
ville. 

Lorelie  gave  him  a  sympathetic  glance,  which  assured 
him  that  his  secret  was  quite  safe  in  her  keeping. 

"  Lord  Walden,"  she  continued,  "  Mr.  Breakspear,  a 
gentleman  to  whom  I  owe  my  life." 

In  some  surprise  Ivar  turned  to  survey  the  saviour  of 
Mademoiselle  Riviere,  and  beheld  a  man  of  about  thirty 
years,  with  fine  dark  eyes  and  an  athletic  figure  —  a  man 
evidently  of  good  birth  ;  his  countenance  expressive  of  a 
spirit  that  showed  if  he  should  set  his  mind  upon  accom 
plishing  an  object,  say  of  winning  a  woman's  love,  he 
would  succeed,  or  make  it  go  extremely  ill  with  those  who 
"  161 


The  Viking's  Skull 

endeavoured  to  thwart  him :  and,  noting  all  this,  Ivar, 
who  was  of  a  mean  nature,  took  secret  umbrage. 

Idris  was  about  to  offer  his  hand,  but  observing  that  the 
viscount  was  stiffly  bowing  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
he  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  imitate  the  other's 
example. 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  eyed  each  other,  both  ap 
parently  animated  by  a  spirit  of  defiance,  the  cause  of 
which  was  patent  enough  to  Godfrey  in  the  person  of  the 
charming  woman  sitting  between  them. 

Idris,  mindful  of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  an 
escaped  convict,  while  Ivar  was  the  descendant  of  a  line 
of  belted  earls,  felt  bitterly  the  contrast  between  their  re 
spective  positions. 

"  How  this  fellow  would  sneer,  if  he  knew  the  truth  !  " 
was  his  thought. 

"  Lord  save  us  ! "  the  woman,  who  owned  the  cottage, 
whispered  to  Godfrey.  "  How  like  they  are !  The  same 
proud  face  upon  each  !  " 

The  surgeon  glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  and  was 
compelled  to  admit  that  there  certainly  was  a  resemblance 
in  features  between  the  two  men,  a  resemblance  which 
would  have  been  the  stronger,  had  not  Idris  been  dark, 
and  Ivar  fair. 

While  Lorelie  gave  a  brief  account  of  her  rescue,  Ivar 
listened  with  impatience,  evidently  of  opinion  that  For 
tune,  while  permitting  Idris  to  save  Mademoiselle  Riviere, 
might  at  least  have  had  the  good  sense  to  drown  him 
afterwards. 

"  At  the  next  Parish  Council,"  said  Lorelie  to  Godfrey, 
"  you  must  call  attention  to  the  '  Stairs  of  David.'  " 

"  The  ladder  ought  certainly  to  be  seen  to,"  said  Idris, 
"  but  for  my  part,  mademoiselle,"  he  added,  bowing  to 
Lorelie,  "  I  shall  never  regret  the  instability  of  that  struc 
ture." 

162 


Idris  Meets  a  Rival 

Ivar,  who  had  refrained  from  speech  both  during 
Lorelie's  story  and  at  its  close,  now  offered  his  arm  to 
help  her  to  the  carriage.  A  shade  of  vexation  passed 
over  her  face  at  the  viscount's  obvious  indifference  to 
Idris'  services  on  her  behalf. 

"  My  ankle  is  still  weak,"  she  said,  turning  to  Idris. 
"  Mr.  Breakspear,  may  I  ask  for  your  help,  too  ?  "  « 

Idris  responded  with  a  cheerfulness  that  became  the 
more  cheerful  as  he  noticed  Ivar's  scowl. 

Thus  escorted  Lorelie  passed  into  the  moonlit  air  with 
out,  and  reached  the  brougham.  Idris  held  the  door 
while  she  stepped  in.  The  viscount  followed,  shutting 
the  door  with  a  loud  slam,  that  said  as  plainly  as  words, 
"  No  more  shall  enter  here." 

Lorelie  looked  more  vexed  than  ever  at  this  discourtesy 
towards  Godfrey  and  Idris :  but  as  the  carriage  was  not 
hers  it  was  out  of  her  power  to  offer  them  a  seat. 

However,  as  if  desirous  of  sweetening  the  parting, 
she  extended  her  little  hand  through  the  carriage- 
window,  accompanying  her  action  with  a  gracious 
smile. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  murmured,  softly. 
"  I  shall  never  forget  the  debt  I  owe  you." 

"  Drive  on,"  cried  Ivar,  brusquely,  to  the  coachman. 
"  The  Cedars,  North  Road." 

The  horses  dashed  off,  and  as  the  brougham  turned 
the  corner  of  the  road,  Idris  caught  a  glimpse  of  Lorelie, 
bending  forward  at  the  carriage-window,  with  her  face 
turned  in  his  direction. 

He  lifted  his  hat,  and  the  next  moment  she  was  lost  to 
view. 

"  Idris,"  said  Godfrey,  "  you  love  that  young  lady." 

"  And  you  must  have  a  heart  of  stone  not  to  love  her, 
too." 

"  Humph  !  it  would  be  rather  awkward  if  all  men  were 

163 


The  Viking's  Skull 

to  desire  the  same  woman.  Isn't  one  rival  enough  for 
you  ?  " 

Truth  to  tell,  Idris  had  been  much  disquieted  by  the 
readiness  with  which  Lorelie  had  surrendered  herself  to 
the  will  of  Viscount  Walden.  It  seemed  almost  as  if 
some  secret  understanding  existed  between  them.  God 
frey,  though  he  refrained  from  saying  so,  had  no  doubt 
whatever  on  the  point. 

"  All  things  being  equal,"  he  continued,  "  I  believe  the 
lady  would  favour  you  :  but,  you  see,  a  prospective  cor 
onet  is  a  very  powerful  attraction,  and  I  fear  the  coronet 
will  gain  the  day." 

Idris  repudiated  this  forecast,  vigorously  anathematiz 
ing  the  name  of  Viscount  Walden,  after  which  his 
thoughts  turned  to  a  theme,  almost  equal  in  interest  to 
his  love  for  Lorelie,  namely,  his  father's  fate. 

"  He  was  not  on  the  yacht  when  it  sank,  so  Mademoi 
selle  Riviere  declares  :  then  what  became  of  him  ?  I  did 
right  to  come  to  Ormsby,  it  seems,  since  it  was  in  this 
neighbourhood  that  he  was  last  heard  of.  But,  alas  !  that 
was  twenty-two  years  ago.  Is  he  living  to-day,  and 
shall  I  ever  find  him  ?  " 


164 


CHAPTER  X 

A    LITTLE    PIECE    OF    STEEL 

THE  clock  was  striking  the  hour  of  ten  at  night 
as  Beatrice  Ravengar  rose  to  put  away  the  em 
broidery  with  which  she  had  been  occupied. 

Save  for  the  companionship  of  her  faithful  St.  Bernard 
she  was  alone.  Godfrey  was  out  visiting  his  patients. 
Idris  had  been  absent  since  noon,  and  Beatrice  won 
dered  what  had  become  of  him,  little  thinking  that  he 
was  passing  his  time  in  a  moonlit  cave,  tete-a-tete  with 
Mademoiselle  Riviere.  The  page-boy,  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  sleep  at  his  own  home,  had  taken  his  departure  : 
and  as  for  the  housemaid,  well,  every  one  knows  that 
when  housemaids  promise  to  be  home  punctually  by 
nine  p.  M.,  they  mean  any  time  up  to  eleven,  and  Beatrice's 
little  domestic  was  no  exception  to  this  rule. 

Methodical  in  all  her  ways  Beatrice  was  in  the  habit 
of  mapping  out  beforehand  a  certain  amount  of  work  to 
be  done  during  the  day.  Her  self-allotted  tasks  being 
now  completed  she  was  ready  for  bed,  but  could  not 
think  of  retiring  before  the  return  of  the  absentees. 

With  a  little  yawn  she  wondered  what  she  should  do 
to  fill  up  the  gap  of  time,  and  seeing  a  book  lying  upon 
the  table,  one  that  Idris  had  been  reading  earlier  in  the 
day,  she  took  it  up  and  found  it  to  be  a  novel. 

Beatrice  as  a  rule  avoided  fiction,  but  on  the  present 
occasion  she  felt  herself  unequal  to  anything  but  the 
lightest  kind  of  literary  confectionery,  and,  accordingly, 
settling  herself  comfortably  in  her  armchair,  she  began 
to  read  the  novel,  which  bore  the  title  of  "  The  Fair  Ori- 

165 


The  Viking's  Skull 

entalist"     It  was  of  the  nightmare  order,  and  dealt  with 
the  doings  of  an  Eastern  lady,  gifted  with  occult  powers. 

After  the  first  chapter  Beatrice  glanced  down  to  make 
sure  that  the  faithful  Leo  was  lying  at  her  feet :  when 
reading  a  story  of  the  supernatural  at  night  it  is  good  to 
have  a  companion  with  us,  though  that  companion  be 
but  a  dog. 

Having  finished  the  second  chapter  she  threw  a  glance 
at  the  windows,  and  was  glad  to  observe  that  the  blinds 
were  drawn,  since  at  night-time  panes  of  glass  are  some 
times  apt  to  reflect  the  gaslight  in  such  a  way  as  to  create 
the  impression  that  there  are  eyes  on  the  outside  watch 
ing  us. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  chapter  Beatrice  had  become 
positively  alarmed  at  the  clairvoyance  and  occult  powers 
ascribed  to  the  Oriental  lady :  and  yet,  so  fascinated  was 
she  by  the  story  that,  despite  her  growing  fears,  she 
found  it  impossible  to  lay  down  the  book. 

Hark  !  what  was.  that  ? 

A  sound,  coming  apparently  from  the  upper  storey, 
echoed  through  the  lonely  house.  With  a  beating  heart 
Beatrice  ceased  reading,  and  listened.  The  sound  was 
repeated,  and  she  smiled  at  her  fears.  The  latticed  win 
dow  at  the  head  of  the  staircase  was  open,  and  flapping 
idly  on  its  hinges.  That  was  all ! 

This  thought,  however,  was  quickly  followed  by  another 
that  revived  her  uneasiness.  Since  the  casement  had 
been  ajar  all  the  evening  why  had  it  not  flapped  before  ? 

"  The  wind  must  be  rising,"  thought  Beatrice :  and 
with  this  reasonable  explanation  she  resumed  her  read 
ing. 

O,  that  window ! 

It  persisted  in  flapping  to  and  fro  at  intervals,  the  ir 
regularity  of  which  was  the  most  annoying  part  of  the 
matter. 

166 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

Sometimes  the  sound  was  so  faint  as  to  be  scarcely 
audible :  then,  after  a  lapse  of  silence  so  long  as  to  prom 
ise  that  the  torment  had  altogether  ceased,  the  casement 
would  give  a  rattle  louder  than  ever,  and  more  startling 
by  contrast  with  the  previous  stillness.  A  little  more 
force  on  the  part  of  the  wind  would  result  in  the  shatter 
ing  of  those  diamond  panes. 

"  I  must  go  up  and  shut  it !  " 

Sensible  resolve !  But  it  was  not  carried  out.  The 
incident,  trifling  though  it  was,  combined  with  the  effect 
of  the  novel,  had  reduced  her  to  a  state  of  nervous 
ness  so  great  that  she  durst  not  ascend  the  staircase  to 
close  the  window.  Despising  herself  for  her  cowardice 
she  remained  in  her  armchair,  neglecting  the  only  ef 
fectual  way  of  ending  the  annoyance. 

She  glanced  again  at  the  dog,  and  derived  some  as 
surance  from  his  quiet  air.  Though  wideawake  he  did 
not  display  any  signs  of  alarm. 

"  One  advantage  brute  creatures  have  over  the  human," 
thought  she.  "  They  never  frighten  themselves  with 
ghostly  fears." 

She  again  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  book,  endeavouring 
to  ignore  the  real  terror  by  a  forced  attention  to  an 
imaginary  one,  a  literary  homaeopathy  that  was  scarcely 
likely  to  be  successful. 

One  of  the  powers  possessed  by  the  Fair  Orientalist 
was  that  of  enduing  inanimate  objects  with  her  own 
magnetism  by  virtue  of  which  they  became  gifted  for  the 
time  being  with  sentience  and  motion. 

The  fancy  now  seized  Beatrice,  so  deeply  had  she 
fallen  under  the  spell  of  the  weird  romance,  that  the  rest 
less  casement  above  was  moved  by  similar  means,  and 
that  its  flapping  was  designed  to  call  her  attention  to  — 
she  knew  not  what.  A  strange  idea !  But  it  grew  upon 
her,  and  increased  till  it  filled  her  mind  to  the  exclusion 

167 


The  Viking's  Skull 

of  everything  else.  The  book,  neglected,  slid  from  her 
knees,  and  she  sat  listening  to  the  swinging  of  the  case 
ment.  And  as  it  is  possible  to  tell  the  mood  of  a  musi 
cian  by  the  notes  he  plays,  so  Beatrice  fancied  she  could 
detect  a  meaning  in  each  variation  of  sound. 

First,  there  was  a  sharp  slam  intended  primarily  to 
arrest  attention,  like  the  ting-ting  of  the  telegraph  oper 
ator:  next,  a  low  plaintive  swing  beseeching  her  to 
ascend  the  stairs  and  come  to  the  rescue,  followed  by  a 
remonstratory  flap  censuring  her  for  delaying.  Then 
ensued  a  slow  solemn  sound  suggestive  of  the  gravity  of 
the  situation :  finally,  there  came  a  loud  rattle  that 
echoed  through  the  house  as  if  threatening  penalties  for 
her  negligence. 

The  geologist  will  read  history  in  a  cliff:  Beatrice 
read  a  whole  tragedy  in  the  varying  tones  of  that  case 
ment. 

And  now,  a  mysterious  influence,  emanating  from  the 
latticed  window,  seemed  to  steal  silently  down  the  stair 
case  like  a  ghost,  and  entering  the  apartment  where  she 
sat  and  enwrapping  her  with  an  unseen  pall  of  horror, 
whispered  a  thought  that  swept  all  the  warmth  from  her 
body  and  left  her  icy-cold. 

The  Viking's  skull  J 

At  the  head  of  the  staircase,  on  the  ledge  of  the  em 
brasured  window,  was  the  grim  memorial,  taken  at  mid 
night  from  the  sepulchral  mound.  Beatrice's  mind 
became  impressed  with  the  belief  that  the  casement  was 
flapping  in  sympathy  with  the  skull,  was  its  mouthpiece, 
so  to  speak  —  nay  more,  that  the  dread  relic  itself  was 
moaning  to  be  taken  back  to  its  ancient  resting-place. 
Her  quickening  fancy  drew  a  picture  of  the  skull,  whis 
pering,  nodding,  grinning,  its  hollow  orbs  illumined  with 
blue,  phosphorescent  light. 

Gazing  fearfully  at  the  door  she  saw  that  it  was  open. 
168 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

She  must  close  it  ere  the  horrid  object  should  come 
gliding  down  the  staircase  into  the  room. 

Summoning  up  her  small  amount  of  remaining  courage 
Beatrice  rose,  and  with  timid,  staccato  steps,  approached 
the  door,  attended  by  Leo.  Mute  as  a  statue  she  stood 
in  the  attitude  of  listening,  her  ringers  on  the  door 
handle. 

Was  it  the  voice  of  the  breeze  sighing  through  the 
half-opened  casement,  or  was  it  the  skull  whispering  and 
chuckling  with  ghostly  glee  ?  She  had  but  to  step  for 
ward  two  paces  to  be  within  the  corridor,  and  by  looking 
up  the  staircase  would  see  the  skull  at  its  head. 

But  this  was  more  than  she  durst  do.  To  her  dismay 
Leo  had  walked  out  of  the  room,  and  refused  to  return. 
She  could  not  shut  the  door  upon  the  dog  :  in  her  present 
state  of  mind  his  presence  was  an  absolute  necessity,  and 
yet,  to  venture  out  into  the  passage  to  bring  him  back, 
and  by  so  doing  come  within  sight  of  the  skull,  was  a 
feat  beyond  her  courage. 

The  corridor-lamp  had  not  been  lighted.  The  glory 
of  the  full  moon  shone  on  the  staircase  window  at  such 
an  angle  that  the  outline  of  the  casement  was  projected 
upon  the  floor  of  the  passage  directly  within  view  of  the 
door  at  which  she  was  standing.  She  could  not  avoid 
seeing  the  oblong  patch  of  spectral  white.  But  that 
shadow  in  the  centre  like  a  human  head,  black  and  still 
as  if  nailed  to  the  flooring !  It  was  the  silhouette  of  the 
skull ! 

Trembling,  she  averted  her  eyes  from  the  shadow,  and 
fortunately  at  that  moment  Leo,  having  decided  that  the 
room  was  more  comfortable  than  the  corridor,  reentered 
the  apartment,  and  Beatrice  instantly  closed  the  door 
and  turned  the  key,  feeling  more  at  ease  now  that  an 
inch  of  oak  interposed  between  herself  and  the  object  at 
the  stair  head. 

169 


The  Viking's  Skull 

But  now  came  another  terror ! 

Leo  had  taken  his  place  on  the  hearth-rug  where  he 
remained  quiet  for  a  few  minutes.  Then,  suddenly,  he 
began  to  grow  restive.  Giving  a  low  growl  he  started  to 
his  feet,  and  after  looking  about  on  all  sides  began  to 
walk  round  the  room,  sniffing  suspiciously  at  the  floor,  as 
if  he  expected  danger  from  the  cellar  below  rather  than 
from  the  staircase  above. 

His  investigations  concluded,  the  poor  brute  sat  down 
on  his  haunches,  and  lifting  up  his  head  gave  utterance 
to  one  long  and  plaintive  howl.  And  if  ever  dog  ut 
tered  prophecy  Leo  uttered  it  at  that  moment,  and  the 
tenor  of  his  prediction  was  that  some  dire  peril  was  at 
hand. 

Beatrice,  who  had  followed  the  animal  from  one  part 
of  the  room  to  another,  repeating  "  Leo,  Leo,  what's  the 
matter?"  as  if  he  were  capable  of  speech,  knelt  by  his 
side  and  found  him  quivering  in  every  limb,  his  hair 
bristling  as  if  with  fear. 

Hark! 

A  gust  of  wind,  more  forcible  than  any  that  had  pre 
ceded  it,  slammed  the  staircase  window  with  a  loud  bang, 
shivering  its  diamond  panes  :  and  —  more  alarming  still ! 
—  this  accident  was  accompanied  by  a  sound  like  the  fall 
of  some  light  object. 

Beatrice  doubted  not  for  a  moment  that  the  skull  had 
dropped  from  the  ledge  and  was  now  coming  down  the 
staircase. 

Nor  did  she  err.  A  second  bump  told  her  that  the 
thing  had  rolled  over  one  stair.  A  third  fall  ensued,  and 
then  a  fourth.  These  sounds  did  not  follow  instantane 
ously  one  upon  another,  but  there  was  between  each  a 
distinct  pause,  suggestive  of  the  idea  that  the  skull  was 
endowed  with  a  volition  and  a  motion  of  its  own  :  as  if,  in 
fact,  it  were  choosing  its  way,  and  descending  at  leisure. 

170 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

Awaiting  the  issue  Beatrice  sat,  the  very  picture  of 
terror,  her  hands  clasped,  her  dilated  eyes  riveted  on  the 
door  of  the  apartment.  It  seemed  many  minutes  since 
the  skull  had  begun  its  descent,  though,  perhaps,  fifteen 
seconds  had  scarcely  elapsed.  Finally,  the  lowest  stair 
was  reached,  and  the  skull,  pitching  forward,  rolled  up  to 
the  door  of  the  apartment,  as  if  seeking  admittance. 

At  its  dread  knock  the  walls  and  floor  of  the  room 
seemed  to  tremble.  The  lights  in  the  gasalier  went  out, 
leaving  the  chamber  in  semi-darkness.  The  dying  em 
bers  of  the  fire,  flickering  strangely  and  unsteadily,  caused 
weird  shapes  to  spring  up  from  floor  to  ceiling. 

At  the  same  time  a  vibratory  motion  was  communi 
cated  to  Beatrice's  person.  She  found  herself  oscillating 
to  and  fro,  unable  to  check  herself.  A  mysterious  power 
grasped  her  ankles  with  unseen  fingers  and  strove  to  ele 
vate  her  in  air. 

Fully  believing  that  her  last  hour  had  come  Beatrice 
gave  one  long  pealing  cry,  in  which  the  terrified  yelp  of 
the  dog  mingled.  She  was  shot  violently  forward :  a 
noise  like  the  rattle  produced  by  a  thousand  falling  plates 
rang  in  her  ears,  and  tumbling  headlong  to  the  carpet 
she  lost  all  consciousness. 


When  Beatrice  next  opened  her  eyes  she  found  her 
self  lying  on  the  sofa  with  three  persons  standing  beside 
her:  Godfrey  was  sprinkling  her  face  and  throat  with 
cold  water  :  the  housemaid  was  applying  a  bottle  of 
strong  salts  to  her  nostrils  :  and  Idris  was  holding  a 
candle,  the  feeble  light  of  which  he  strove  to  steady  by 
shielding  it  with  his  hand.  The  windows  and  door  were 
wide  open,  and  the  cool  night  air  was  blowing  through 
the  room,  laden  with  a  faint  odour  of  escaped  gas. 

Beatrice  gave  a  feeble  smile  of  recognition,  and  then 
171 


The  Viking's  Skull 

gazed  vacantly  around  the  apartment,  unable  at  first  to 
recall  what  had  preceded  the  present  state  of  affairs. 

The  room  presented  a  scene  of  confusion.  All  the 
pictures  hung  awry :  the  ornaments  of  the  mantel  had 
fallen,  and  lay,  some  shattered  to  pieces,  within  the  fire 
place  :  fragments  of  one  of  the  gasalier  globes  starred 
the  carpet :  the  doors  of  the  bookcase  were  open,  and 
many  of  the  volumes  had  been  projected  from  their 
shelves  to  the  floor.  On  the  table  was  the  Viking's 
skull,  the  cause,  in  some  mysterious  way,  of  all  this  dis 
order;  at  least,  such  was  Beatrice's  opinion. 

"  I  have  been  horribly  frightened  !  "  she  said,  as  soon 
as  she  had  recovered  the  use  of  speech. 

"  And  well  you  might  be  !  "  replied  Idris.  "  Godfrey 
and  I  had  just  reached  the  door,  when  the  house  shook 
to  its  foundations,  and  out  went  all  the  lights.  By 
heaven !  I  thought  the  place  was  coming  down.  We 
have  had  an  earthquake  shock." 

But  the  imaginative  mind  of  Beatrice,  still  under  the 
spell  of  "  The  Fair  Orientalist"  was  not  prepared  to  ac 
cept  this  rational  explanation. 

"  Earthquakes  don't  happen  in  England,"  she  declared. 

"  Slight  shocks  occasionally  occur  here,"  said  Idris, 
"  and  the  present  one  is  a  case  in  point.  Why,"  he 
added,  observing  Beatrice's  dissentient  shake  of  her  head, 
"  what  else  could  it  have  been  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say,"  she  answered,  shivering,  and  glancing 
at  the  Viking's  skull.  "  But  this  much  I  know,  that  long 
before  the  house  shook  and  the  gas  went  out,  I  was 
frightened  by  strange  sounds  coming  from  the  head  of 
the  staircase  where  the  skull  was,  and  so  —  and  so " 

And  here  Beatrice  paused,  not  knowing  how  to 
express  to  others  that  which  was  not  very  clear  to 
herself. 

"  And  so  you  began  to  think  that  the  skull  was  talking 

172 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

and  threatening  you  with  mystic  oracles  ?  Fie,  Trixie," 
said  her  brother,  reprovingly.  "  I  did  not  think  you 
could  be  so  foolish." 

But  perceiving  that  it  would  be  useless  at  this  juncture 
to  try  to  reason  her  out  of  her  belief,  such  process  being 
best  reserved  for  the  sober  light  of  morning,  Godfrey 
turned  to  give  some  orders  to  the  housemaid. 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  Idris,  picking  up  the  novel  from  the 
floor,  "  so  you  have  been  reading  this  ?  Then  I  don't 
wonder  that  you  have  been  frightened.  '  The  Fair  Or'i- 
entalist '  is  not  a  book  to  be  read  at  night  in  a  lonely 
house." 

"  I  will  not  deny  that  the  book  frightened  me,  but  what 
was  it  that  frightened  Leo  ?  He  cannot  read  ghost- 
stories,  and  yet  he  howled  piteously." 

"  Probably  with  that  prevision  instinctive  in  the  brute 
race  he  discerned  the  coming  of  this  catastrophe." 

Beatrice,  having  now  recovered  herself,  proposed  a  tour 
of  the  house  with  a  view  of  ascertaining  how  much 
damage  had  been  done. 

The  walls  did  not  exhibit  any  cracks  or  fissures,  and 
apparently  were  as  sound  as  before,  but  on  the  floor  of 
every  room  proofs  of  the  recent  earth-tremor  were  evident 
in  the  shape  of  fallen  articles. 

Breakage  was  especially  triumphant  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Ah  me  !  "  sighed  Beatrice,  sorrowfully.  "  Good-bye 
to  my  new  tea-service !  And  my  pretty  majolica  bread- 
plate  gone,  too  !  Nothing  will  convince  me  that  this  is 
not  the  work  of  the  Viking.  When  he  was  alive  I  have 
no  doubt  that,  being  a  heathen,  he  took  a  pleasure  in 
slaying  good  Christian  folk  :  and  now  that  he  is  dead  he 
shows  his  malignity  by  destroying  their  crockery-ware. 
A  noble  Viking,  one  would  think,  should  be  above  such 
meanness." 

On  returning  to  the  sitting-room  Idris,  for  the  enlight- 
173 


The  Viking's  Skull 

enment  of  Beatrice,  began  to  relate  his  adventure  with 
Mademoiselle  Riviere ;  and,  as  Beatrice  listened,  she  be 
came  strangely  disquieted  by  the  incident.  Why  should 
this  be  ? 

But  when  Idris,  in  the  course  of  his  story,  dwelt  on  the 
beauty  of  Lorelie,  and  above  all  on  the  heroic  light  of 
her  eyes  when  she  bade  him  leave  her  to  save  himself, 
Beatrice  readily  discerned  by  the  warmth  of  his  tone  how 
matters  stood  with  him,  and  realizing  this,  her  agitation 
increased.  Surprised,  frightened,  trembling,  she  found 
herself  borne  along  on  the  wild  wave  of  her  emotion  to 
the  certain  knowledge  that  her  feelings  towards  Idris 
were  not  those  of  friendship  simply,  but  of  love ! 

And  perceiving  how  deeply  enthralled  he  was  by  the 
witchery  of  Lorelie  Riviere  her  mind  became  tortured 
with  exquisite  pain. 

Fearing  that  Idris  and  Godfrey  might  observe  her 
emotion  and  divine  its  cause,  she  seized  a  favourable  mo 
ment  to  steal  from  the  apartment,  without  so  little  as  a 
"  Good-night,"  lest  her  voice  should  betray  her. 

And  on  attaining  her  dainty  bedroom  she  flung  her 
self  upon  the  bed  and  gave  way  to  emotion,  despising 
herself  as  foolish,  and  yet  unable  to  check  her  tears. 

"  If  he  but  knew  her  true  character !  "  she  murmured : 
"  If  he  but  knew  !  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  tell  him.  He 
will  —  he  must  learn  it  in  time.  And  then  —  and  then 
—  perhaps  —  it  may  be  —  that " 

But  Beatrice  put  this  hope  from  her  as  too  delightful 
ever  to  be  realized. 

"  Now  to  examine  my  noble  Viking,"  said  Idris,  taking 
up  the  skull  from  the  table.  "  Let  us  see  whether  he  has 
suffered  any  injury  in  his  roll  down-stairs. — Hul-lo  !  " 

Shaking  the  skull  as  he  spoke,  his  attention  was  ar 
rested  by  a  faint  rattle  within  it,  a  sound  that  he  had  not 
heard  in  his  previous  handlings  of  the  relic. 

174 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

"  Listen,  Godfrey  !  "  he  cried  in  a  curious  tone  of  voice, 
and  shaking  the  skull  again.  "  What  is  this  inside  ?  " 

He  stopped  the  motion  to  examine  the  skull  more 
carefully.  Strange  that  till  this  moment  he  had  not 
noticed  that  the  occipital  bone  was  pierced  by  a  tiny 
hole  of  circular  shape  ! 

"  Do  you  see  this,  Godfrey  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  out  the 
orifice.  "  This  could  have  been  caused  only  by  a  sharp- 
pointed  instrument.  The  thing  rattling  within  must  be 
a  fragment  of  some  weapon." 

He  gave  the  skull  another  shake,  when,  from  the  ver 
tebral  orifice  there  dropped  a  piece  of  rusty  steel  about 
two  inches  in  length,  slender,  rounded,  and  tapering  to  a 
point. 

"  No  one  could  live  with  a  thing  like  this  in  his  head," 
said  Idris.  "  So  it  is  clear  that  we  have  here  a  fragment 
of  the  identical  weapon  that  gave  old  Orm  his  coup-de- 
grace '." 

A  tiny  piece  of  steel  publicly  exposed,  say  in  a  shop- 
window,  will  attract  little,  if  any  notice :  but  let  it  be 
known  that  the  said  steel  is  the  instrument  with  which  a 
murder  has  been  wrought,  and  a  whole  city  will  come 
trooping  forth  to  view :  and  fancy  prices  will  be  offered 
for  it  by  connoisseurs  of  the  gruesome. 

Deep,  therefore,  was  the  interest  with  which  the  two 
friends  viewed  their  latest  discovery. 

"  Then  this  cannot  be  the  skull  of  Orm  the  Viking," 
remarked  Godfrey,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  if  the 
tapestry  we  brought  away  from  the  tomb  is  to  be  re 
ceived  as  an  authority,  since  that  represents  him  as  slain 
by  an  arrow  piercing  his  breast." 

This  contradiction  between  the  evidence  presented  by 
the  skull  and  that  presented  by  the  tapestry,  perplexed 
Idris  in  no  small  degree.  Having  conceived  the  some 
what  pleasing  notion  that  he  was  the  possessor  of  the 

175 


The  Viking's  Skull 

skull  of  Orm  the  Golden,  he  was  loth  to  relinquish  his 
belief,  and  prepared  to  argue  the  point. 

"  Artists,  whether  in  needlework  or  in  oils,  are  not 
always  to  be  accepted  as  historic  authorities.  I  have  no 
doubt  suppressio  vert  was  practised  as  much  in  the  Viking 
age  as  in  our  own.  If  Orm  died  with  a  wound  in  the 
occiput,  what  does  that  seem  to  show  ?  That  he  must 
have  turned  his  back  on  his  foes  in  defiance  of  the  canons 
of  Norse  bravery.  Do  you  think  that  the  weavers  of  the 
tapestry  would  let  posterity  know  that  Orm  had  turned 
coward  ?  No !  therefore  they  make  him  die  with  an 
arrow  in  his  breast,  facing  the  foe,  bold  to  the  last.  The 
tumulus  in  Ravensdale  is  certainly  Orm's  tomb :  the 
name  Ormfell  and  the  tapestry  prove  it,  and  hence  the 
bones  it  contains  must  be  those  of  Orm." 

"  Hum  !  I'm  not  convinced,"  replied  Godfrey.  "  You 
believe  this  steel  to  be  the  fragment  of  a  battle-weapon  : 
of  what  kind  of  weapon?  It  is  too  slender  to  have 
formed  part  of  a  sword  or  a  dagger :  too  finely-pointed 
to  have  been  the  barb  of  a  lance  or  an  arrow." 

"  It  may  be  a  spike  from  that  sort  of  mace  which  the 
Vikings  in  their  playful  way  were  wont  to  call  their 
'  Morning  Star.'  This  is  perhaps  a  stellar  ray." 

"  Rather  fragile  for  the  spike  of  a  mace,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  True.  I  confess  I  am  as  much  puzzled  as  yourself 
to  name  the  weapon  of  which  this  once  formed  part." 

For  a  long  time  Idris  continued  to  puzzle  over  the 
question,  polishing  the  steel  fragment  till  it  gleamed  with 
a  silvery-azure  light.  He  suggested  its  connection  with 
all  kinds  of  impossible  weapons,  but  could  come  to  no 
satisfactory  conclusion.  Then,  vexed  by  Godfrey's 
scepticism,  he  said : — 

"  Well,  old  wiseacre,  if  this  be  not  Orm's  skull,  tell  me 
whose  it  is  ?  " 

"  Impossible  to  say  —  at  present.  My  opinion  is  that 

176 


A  Little  Piece  of  Steel 

it  is  not  an  ancient  skull  at  all,  but  a  modern  one.  The 
future  will  perhaps  show  whether  I  am  right.  As 
4  there's  a  Divinity  that  shapes '  human  affairs,  it  may  be 
that  the  earthquake  of  to-night  has  been  sent  for  a  pur 
pose.  It  has  had  the  effect  of  loosening  the  fragment 
of  steel  hitherto  immovably  fixed  in  the  cavity  of  the 
skull.  You  will,  perhaps,  consider  me  fanciful,  Idris,  but 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  we  are  on  the  threshold  of  a 
startling  discovery  to  which  this  piece  of  steel  forms  a 
clue." 


177 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  RUNIC  RING 

ON  the  morning  after  his  adventure  on  the  sea 
shore  Idris  went  out  with  the  intention  of  call 
ing  upon  Mademoiselle  Riviere :  and  that  he 
might  not  lack  reasonable  pretext  for  his  visit,  he  took 
with  him  the  book  which  she  had  asked  him  to  return. 
Apart  altogether  from  the  charm  of  her  beauty  Lorelie 
interested  him,  both  as  being  the  daughter  of  Captain 
Rochefort,  and  likewise  as  the  depositary  of  some 
strange  secret  relating  to  his  father's  history.  Though 
earnestly  pressed  by  Idris  she  had  firmly  declined  to  give 
any  account  of  Eric  Marville  from  the  time  of  his  escape 
to  the  sinking  of  the  yacht  in  Ormsby  Race.  It  was 
difficult  to  assign  a  motive  for  her  refusal,  but  Idris  did 
not  doubt  that  in  course  of  time  he  would  be  able  to 
overcome  her  reticence :  and  therefore,  if  only  on  this 
account,  Lorelie  Riviere  was  a  person  whose  friendship 
it  behoved  him  to  cultivate. 

The  way  to  her  villa,  The  Cedars,  took  him  past  Saint 
Oswald's  Church,  and  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
turned  aside  to  enter  the  edifice,  which  in  more  than  one 
sense  was  hallowed  ground  to  him,  inasmuch  as  it  was 
here  that  he  had  first  met  with  Lorelie. 

Surely  Eros  was  directing  his  steps !  For,  scarcely 
had  he  passed  within  the  porch  of  the  Ravengar  Chantry 
when  his  ear  caught  the  soft  rustle  of  silk,  and 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  herself  was  standing  before  him. 
She  had  entered  by  another  door,  and  the  basket  of 
flowers  hanging  from  her  arm  seemed  to  indicate  that 

178 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

her  object  in  visiting  the  church  was  to  deck  its  altar. 
Dressed  in  a  graceful  costume  of  black  and  silver  that 
harmonized  exquisitely  with  her  delicate  complexion  she 
looked  more  beautiful  and  witching  than  ever  in  Idris' 
eyes,  as  with  a  bright  smile  she  extended  her  hand. 

"And  your  sprained  ankle?  "he  asked,  when  their 
first  greetings  were  over. 

"  Is  not  my  presence  here  a  satisfactory  answer  to  that 
question  ?  "  she  smiled. 

"  May  I  ask  for  a  flower  in  exchange,  mademoiselle  ?  " 
said  Idris,  as  he  returned  the  book  to  her. 

"  Here  is  variety  to  choose  from.  Let  me  learn  your 
favourite." 

She  held  out  the  basket  for  Idris  to  make  his  choice. 

"  You  are  taking  nothing  but  forget-me-nots,"  she 
cried. 

"  I  am  in  a  parabolical  mood,  you  see.  The  name  of 
this  flower  expresses  what  my  lips  would  say." 

"  And  thereby  you  accuse  me  of  ingratitude." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  By  suggesting  the  possibility  of  my  forgetting  one 
who  has  saved  my  life,"  replied  Lorelie,  the  colour  steal 
ing  over  her  cheek.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  an 
expression  in  them  that  thrilled  him,  and  continued, 
"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  dream  I  had  last  night  ?  I  thought 
I  was  still  lying  on  those  sands  where  I  fell,  unable  to 
move.  The  rising  tide  came  on  and  rippled  around  me, 
striking  a  chill  through  my  clothing.  At  last  the  water 
was  so  high  that  it  flowed  over  my  face,  filling  my 
mouth  and  nostrils.  I  fought  with  it,  but  it  ascended 
higher  and  ever  higher  above  me,  till  I  was  deep  down 
below  the  surface. 

"  And  the  curious  part  of  it  all  was  that  I  still  lived. 
I  lay  there  as  in  a  trance,  motionless,  staring  upwards.  I 
could  see  the  air-bubbles  of  my  breath  ascending  to  the 

179 


The  Viking's  Skull 

surface.  The  moon  with  tremulous  motion  shone 
through  the  glassy  water,  looking  —  oh!  ever  so  far 
away.  The  sea-weed  drifted  around  and  clung  to  my 
cheek  and  hair.  Curious  sea-monsters  came  and  looked 
at  me,  then  went  away  again  :  shell-fish  crawled  over  me, 
and  all  night  long  the  restless  water  flowed  over  my  face 
and  plashed  in  and  out  of  my  mouth.  Its  faint  murmur 
rings  in  my  ears  still.  In  the  morning  I  awoke  and 
found  it  a  dream.  Then  I  said  to  myself, '  This  is  what 
would  have  happened  if —  if  no  one  had  been  near  to  aid 
me.'  " 

"  It  is  past  now,"  replied  Idris,  observing  her  shiver. 
"  Don't  think  any  more  about  it." 

"  The  peril  is  past,  but  the  memory  of  it  remains. 
Ah,  that  dream !  If  it  should  occur  again  to-night  I 
shall  begin  to  be  like  Richard  III,  and  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  sleep.  Shall  I  put  those  flowers  in  your  coat, 
Mr.  Breakspear  ?  You  seem  to  find  it  a  difficulty." 

Idris  readily  accepted  her  proffered  aid. 

"  Forget-me-not,"  she  murmured,  fastening  the  nosegay 
to  his  button-hole ;  and  Idris  wondered  whether  the 
words  were  addressed  to  him,  or  whether  she  was  simply 
repeating  the  name  of  the  flower  :  the  latter  it  seemed  by 
her  next  remark.  "  Why  should  our  French  myosotis  be 
called  in  English,  '  Forget-me-not '  ?  Can  you  tell  me 
the  origin  of  the  name  ?  " 

Idris  could,  and  did  :  relating  the  somewhat  apocryphal 
story  of  the  youth,  who,  in  wading  to  the  opposite  bank 
of  a  river  with  a  view  of  procuring  some  flowers  for  his 
sweetheart,  was  swept  off  by  the  current  and  drowned, 
but  not  before  he  had  had  time  to  fling  the  flowers  at  her 
feet  with  the  parting  cry  of  "  Forget-me-not ! " 

"  The  moral  of  which  is,"  added  Idris,  "  learn  to 
swim." 

"  You  are  spoiling  a  pretty  story  by  your  cynicism," 

1 80 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

said  Lorelie.  "  His  love  was  all  the  greater  if  he  could 
not  swim." 

She  turned  to  arrange  her  flowers  upon  the  altar  of  the 
Ravengar  Chantry.  Idris  was  watching  her  when  his 
eye  was  caught  by  a  shadow  outlined  on  the  stone  pave 
ment.  The  sun  was  shining  through  the  window  above 
the  altar,  and  casting  at  his  feet  glowing  splashes  of  va 
rious  hues.  For  a  few  seconds  he  continued  to  stare, 
doubtful  whether  he  saw  aright,  and  then,  slowly  raising 
his  gaze,  he  followed  the  slanting  shaft  of  coloured  light 
upward  from  the  pavement  till  his  eyes  rested  upon  the 
stained  window. 

The  central  pane  was  blazoned  with  the  armorial  device 
of  the  Ravengars.  The  shield,  supported  on  each  side  by 
a  raven,  in  canting  allusion  to  the  family  name,  was 
charged  in  the  centre  with  a  silver  circlet,  a  thin  purple 
line  forming  the  perimeter. 

The  runic  ring  ! 

Yes :  there  was  its  facsimile  gleaming  from  the  col 
oured  glass,  and  seeming  in  the  morning  sunlight  to 
sparkle  with  a  new  and  mysterious  significance.  That 
this  argent  circle  was  intended  to  represent  the  Norse 
altar-ring  Idris  had  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt :  and  for  a 
moment  he  felt  resentment  both  against  Beatrice  and 
Godfrey :  for,  familiar  as  they  must  be  with  this  coat  of 
arms  —  Beatrice  herself,  as  a  Ravengar,  being  entitled  to 
assume  it  —  they  had  made  no  allusion  to  it  when  he  was 
telling  them  the  story  of  the  runic  ring.  It  was  singular, 
too,  that  he  himself  should  have  failed  to  notice  this 
blazon  in  his  previous  visit  to  this  chantry. 

What  was  the  reason  for  its  figuring  in  the  Ravengar 
shield  ? 

Curious  stories  are  often  latent  within  armorial  devices, 
as  students  of  heraldry  can  testify.  Was  it  possible  that 
this  ring  had  been  adopted  by  the  Ravengars  of  a  past 

181 


The  Viking's  Skull 

generation  because  it  had  been  in  some  way  connected 
with  their  history  ? 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere,"  said  Idris,  impulsively,  think 
ing  that  she  might  be  able  to  throw  some  light  upon  the 
matter,  "  can  you  tell  me  whether  the  Ravengars  of  past 
times  had  any  historic  reason  for  decorating  their  armorial 
shield  with  a  silver  ring  ?  " 

"  There  is  an  interesting  legend  to  account  for  it,"  she 
said  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  which  you  will  find  in 
a  curious  old  book  entitled,  '  Traditions  of  the  House  of 
Ravengar'  " 

"  You  know  the  story,  then  ?  May  I  not  learn  it  from 
you  rather  than  from  the  book  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  story  that  will  take  a  long  time  in  the  tell 
ing." 

This,  in  Idris'  opinion,  was  an  excellent  reason  for  hear 
ing  it.  Lorelie  found  herself  unable  to  resist  his  persua 
sive  manner :  so,  sitting  down,  she  proceeded  to  tell  the 
story  with  a  detail  that  showed  how  it  had  caught  her 
own  imagination. 

In  the  ninth  century  —  so  ran  the  legend  —  there  lived 
a  Norse  sea-king,  who,  either  from  the  terror  inspired  by 
his  arms,  or  from  the  gilt  figure  on  the  prow  of  his  galley, 
was  called  Draco,  or  "  The  Dragon."  From  the  great 
wealth  acquired  in  his  various  water-expeditions  he  gained 
the  additional  name  of  "  The  Golden." 

Like  many  other  heroes  of  the  north  this  Draco  claimed 
descent  from  Odin,  and  among  his  hereditaments  nothing 
was  more  prized  by  him  than  the  silver  altar-ring  used  in 
the  religious  ceremonies  of  his  clan,  since  it  was  said  to 
have  belonged  originally  to  his  divine  ancestor. 

Draco  lived  at  the  time  when  the  Norsemen  were  sail 
ing  by  thousands  from  their  own  land  in  order  to  gain  by 
the  sword  new  and  fairer  homes  in  Britain.  He,  too,  de 
termined  to  have  a  share  in  the  territorial  spoil,  and  ac- 

182 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

cordingly,  equipping  his  dragon-keels,  and  gathering  his 
warcarls  around  him,  he  sailed  off  over  the  seas. 

On  arriving  within  sight  of  the  Northumbrian  coast  he 
had  recourse  to  the  gods  for  fixing  the  precise  point  of 
his  disembarkation :  he  let  fly  two  ravens  consecrated  to 
Odin,  and  following  in  their  wake  landed  where  they  had 
alighted. 

He  quickly  put  to  the  rout  those  Northumbrians  who 
attempted  to  oppose  him,  and  proceeded  to  confirm  his 
victory  by  building  a  fortress  on  the  site  of  the  existing 
Ravenhall.  Sallying  forth  from  this  place  he  would 
plunder  the  neighbouring  monasteries,  or,  putting  out  to 
sea,  attack  the  merchant  vessels  that  passed  his  shores, 
thus  becoming  possessed  in  course  of  time,  of  a  vast 
quantity  of  treasure  in  the  shape  of  gold  and  silver,  church- 
plate,  coinage,  jewels,  and  the  like. 

In  his  old  age  he  met  with  the  end  deemed  worthy  of 
a  warrior,  being  slain  in  battle  whilst  contending  against 
a  neighbouring  chieftain.  At  his  burial  a  Norse  scald 
composed  that  wild  barbaric  requiem,  which  Idris  had 
heard  Lorelie  playing  on  the  organ  —  a  requiem  that  had 
accompanied  the  funeral  of  every  Ravengar  since  :  though 
doubtless  with  considerable  variations  from  the  original 
strain. 

Draco  left  one  son  only,  Magnus  by  name.  He  was 
but  a  child  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  and  the 
widowed  mother,  Hilda,  fearing  that  an  attempt  might  be 
made  to  deprive  him  of  his  patrimonial  treasure,  secretly 
buried  it,  purposing  to  give  it  to  her  son  when  he  should 
be  of  age  to  defend  his  rights. 

For  a  time  all  went  well.  The  warriors  who  had  fol 
lowed  the  standard  of  Draco  rallied  around  his  son,  and 
looked  forward  to  the  day  when  he  should  emulate  or 
surpass  the  deeds  of  his  father.  But  eventually  murmur- 
ings  arose.  The  boy  was  too  much  under  his  mother's 


The  Viking's  Skull 

influence,  they  thought :  the  hand  that  should  have  been 
wielding  the  spear  was  more  often  found  holding  the  pen. 
She  was  accused  of  teaching  him  dark  and  curious  arts. 

It  was  a  long  time,  however,  before  the  Vikings  ven 
tured  to  express  their  displeasure  openly,  for  they  feared 
Hilda.  She  was  an  Alruna,  that  is,  an  all-runic  or  all- 
wise  woman,  who  had  power  to  cast  pernicious  spells 
upon  those  who  offended  her. 

At  last,  one  day,  provoked  to  the  extreme  by  some  act 
of  imprudence  on  her  part,  they  came  to  Magnus  and 
telling  him  that  they  were  going  to  banish  his  mother, 
they  gave  him  the  choice  of  being  their  chieftain  or  of 
accompanying  her  into  exile.  Magnus  elected  to  stand 
with  his  father's  warriors,  and,  as  head  of  the  clan,  in  full 
and  solemn  doom-ring,  he  pronounced  upon  his  mother 
sentence  of  perpetual  banishment. 

Cut  to  the  heart  by  this  unfilial  act  Hilda  vowed 
that  she  would  never  reveal  to  him  the  hiding-place 
of  the  treasure  :  and  so,  being  banished,  she  returned  to 
her  native  Norseland,  taking  with  her  the  silver  altar-ring. 

With  the  lapse  of  time,  however,  she  began  to  relent 
towards  her  absent  son.  She  yearned  to  see  him  again, 
but  was  now  too  old  to  undertake  the  fatigues  attending 
the  voyage.  She  resolved  to  break  her  oath  of  silence 
and  to  tell  him  where  the  treasure  lay  concealed.  To 
secure  herself  from  treachery  on  the  part  of  her  mes 
senger,  who  might  have  appropriated  the  wealth  himself 
if  entrusted  with  the  secret  of  its  hiding-place,  she  had 
recourse  to  the  following  expedient.  She  engraved  upon 
the  altar-ring  a  sentence  indicative  of  the  exact  site  of 
the  treasure,  making  use  of  runic  letters,  arranged  in  such 
a  way  that  none  but  Magnus  could  understand  them :  for 
cryptic  writing  had  been  one  of  the  many  arts  she  had 
taught  him.  This  done,  she  despatched  the  ring  by  the 
hand  of  a  herald. 

184 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

But  Magnus  was  now  dead.  His  son  and  successor 
was  Ulric,  who,  because  his  lance  bore  a  small  pennon 
decorated  with  the  figure  of  a  raven,  was  called  Ravengar 
or  Raven  Spear,  a  name  that  became  hereditary. 

Hilda's  messenger  entered  the  hall  at  the  hour  when 
Ulric  sat  feasting  with  his  warriors.  In  accordance  with 
the  Norse  rites  of  hospitality  the  herald  was  given  a  seat 
at  the  board.  No  question  was  asked  of  him,  and  he 
resolved  to  defer  his  message  till  the  meal  should  be  over. 
This  delay  proved  fatal  to  him,  for,  during  the  course  of 
the  feast,  he  accidentally  drew  forth  the  altar-ring.  In  a 
moment  the  ancient  greybeards  —  old  companions  of 
Draco  —  recognized  the  sacred  relic  of  Odin,  and  sternly 
commanded  the  stranger  to  explain  how  he  became 
possessed  of  their  former  chieftain's  ring :  it  had  formed 
a  part  of  the  missing  treasure :  he  must,  therefore,  know 
where  the  remainder  was. 

With  a  stammering  tongue  the  herald  stated  that  he 
was  a  messenger  from  the  Lady  Hilda,  and  pointing  to 
the  inscription  upon  the  ring,  said  that  it  indicated  the 
hiding-place  of  the  treasure. 

Ulric,  unskilled  in  the  art  of  letters,  passed  the  ring  on 
to  the  sagamen  and  scalds,  who  shook  their  heads  over  it. 
Magnus,  the  only  one  capable  of  reading  the  riddle,  was 
no  more.  The  herald  himself  was  unable  to  decipher  the 
message  that  his  mistress  had  caused  to  be  engraved.  To 
the  assembled  Vikings  his  words  seemed  an  idle  tale :  his 
ignorance  was  imputed  to  knavery :  swords  gleamed  in 
the  air :  the  oaken  rafters  rang  with  excited  cries. 

At  one  end  of  the  hall  on  a  dais  there  stood,  as  was 
usual  in  those  days,  rude  images  of  the  gods.  To  this 
spot  the  herald  was  dragged  and  told  that  unless  he 
revealed  the  hiding-place  of  the  treasure  he  should  be 
sacrificed  there  and  then  to  Odin  and  Thor. 

Vain  was  his  plea  of  ignorance :  vain  his  appeal  for 
185 


The  Viking's  Skull 

mercy :  he  was  slain  by  the  dagger  of  Ulric,  himself  the 
priest  as  well  as  the  chief  of  the  clan  :  the  altar-ring  was 
dipped  in  the  blood  of  the  victim,  and  the  red  drops  were 
sprinkled  on  all  present.  With  his  dying  breath  the 
herald  called  upon  heaven  to  be  his  avenger,  invoking  a 
curse  upon  the  head  of  him  who  should  discover  the 
treasure,  and  praying  that  the  finder  might  meet  with  a 
death  as  violent  as  his  own. 

Afterwards,  when  Ulric  came  to  clean  the  ring,  he 
found  he  could  not  remove  the  stain  of  blood,  and  the 
sagamen  who  examined  it  declared  that  the  mark  would 
never  be  effaced  till  one  of  the  Raven-race  should  die  as  an 
atonement  for  the  death  of  the  herald,  whose  sacred  char 
acter  had  been  impiously  set  at  nought. 

Ulric  retained  the  ring  as  the  symbol  of  his  authority : 
at  his  death  it  passed  to  his  son,  and  so  from  generation 
to  generation  it  continued  in  the  Ravengar  family  as  a 
venerated  heirloom.  In  the  days  of  Charles  II  the  first 
Earl  of  Ormsby,  Lancelot  Ravengar,  adopted  the  ring  as 
an  armorial  device,  taking  as  his  supporters  two  ravens, 
in  allusion  to  the  birds  that  were  said  to  have  directed  the 
course  of  Draco's  galley. 

Such  was  the  story  of  the  runic  ring,  a  story  to  which 
Idris  listened  with  the  deepest  interest.  It  was  clear  to 
him  that  his  Viking  Orm  and  Lorelie's  Draco  were 
identical,  the  Norse  form  of  the  name  having  doubtless 
been  changed  into  its  Latin  equivalent  by  the  original 
monkish  chronicler. 

"  And  is  the  ring  still  in  the  possession  of  the  Raven- 
gars  ?  "  he  asked,  when  Lorelie  had  come  to  the  end  of 
her  story. 

"  No  :  about  fifty  years  ago  it  was  stolen." 

"  Under  what  circumstances  ?  " 

"  The  affair  was  a  mystery.  The  ring  was  kept  with 
other  heirlooms  in  the  jewel-room  at  Ravenhall.  Ac- 

186 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

cording  to  the  butler  it  was  secure  in  its  glass  case  when 
he  locked  the  door  of  the  jewel-room  at  night :  in  the 
morning  it  was  gone.  Suspicion  fell  upon  a  steward  who 
was  under  notice  of  dismissal :  it  is  supposed  that  he  was 
actuated  by  a  spirit  of  revenge.  The  detectives  em 
ployed  in  the  case  failed,  however,  to  connect  him  with 
the  theft,  nor  did  their  investigations  lead  to  any  result 
so  far  as  regards  the  recovery  of  the  ring." 

"  The  steward,  if  he  were  guilty,  probably  disposed  of 
the  relic  on  the  Continent,"  said  Idris.  "  At  any  rate  it 
found  its  way  to  Nantes,  for  the  Ravengar  heirloom  must 
surely  have  been  the  very  ring  which  led  to  the  murder 
of  M.  Duchesne  and  the  consequent  arrest  of  my  father." 

"I  believe  —  nay,  I  am  certain  it  was,"  answered 
Lorelie. 

Her  eyes  drooped  and  a  shadow  passed  over  her  face. 
Any  reference  to  Eric  Marville  seemed  to  trouble  her, 
and  Idris  resolved  to  avoid  the  mention  of  his  name. 

"  And  during  the  many  centuries  in  which  this  ring 
was  in  the  possession  of  the  Ravengars,"  he  continued, 
"  was  no  one  ever  found  capable  of  deciphering  the  runic 
inscription  ?  " 

"  No  one.  In  time  past  the  ring  was  submitted  to 
many  antiquaries,  but  they  could  make  nothing  of  it." 

Idris,  though  justly  proud  of  his  success  in  a  matter 
wherein  experts  had  failed,  kept  his  own  counsel  for  the 
present,  and  refrained  from  mentioning  that  he  had  ac 
complished  the  feat. 

"  Then,  of  course,  the  treasure  of  old  Orm  —  Draco,  I 
mean  —  has  never  been  discovered  ?  " 

"  Not  by  a  Ravengar." 

"  But  by  some  one  else  probably.  It  is  not  likely  that 
the  buried  treasure  has  remained  undiscovered  for  a 
thousand  years." 

"  The  legend  says  that  only  a  Ravengar  can  discover 
187 


The  Viking's  Skull 

it,  and  that  in  the  very  moment  of  discovery  he  will  for 
feit  his  life  as  an  atonement  for  the  death  of  the  herald. 
But  this,"  added  Lorelie  with  a  smile,  "  is,  of  course, 
mere  poetic  fancy." 

"  There  is  one  omission  in  your  story.  You  did  not 
state  where  this  sea-king,  Draco,  was  buried." 

"  The  legend  does  not  say.  You  are  forgetting  that  it 
is  a  legend,  invented,  perhaps,  by  some  imaginative 
king-at-arms  in  order  to  decorate  the  vanity  of  the  first 
Earl  of  Ormsby  with  a  long  pedigree  and  a  romantic 
origin." 

But  Idris  had  received  proofs  that  the  story  was  true 
in  the  main.  For  example,  there  had  actually  existed  an 
altar-ring  such  as  described  —  for  he  had  seen  and  handled 
it  himself — a  ring  engraved  with  a  sentence  which  not 
only  spoke  of  a  buried  treasure,  but  also  bore  the  names 
of  the  very  persons,  Orm,  Hilda,  and  Magnus,  who  had 
figured  so  prominently  in  the  story.  The  fragment  of 
tapestry  brought  from  the  interior  of  the  ancient  tumulus 
supplied  additional  evidence  as  to  the  historic  existence 
of  the  Golden  Viking  and  the  widowed  Hilda. 

"  This  Draco,"  continued  Idris,  "  if  he  received  the 
sepulchral  honours  due  to  a  Norse  chief,  would  be  buried 
beneath  an  immense  mound  of  earth.  If  we  are  to  look 
for  his  tomb  in  this  neighbourhood  we  shall  perhaps  find 
it  in  a  tumulus  on  the  seashore  about  four  miles  from 
here." 

"  I  know  the  eminence  you  refer  to,"  replied  Lorelie. 
"  It  is  called  Ormfell,  that  is,  Orm's  Hill ;  and  therefore 
it  cannot  be  Draco's  tomb,  otherwise  it  would  be  called 
Draconfell,  or  something  similar." 

Idris  did  not  stop  to  show  the  fallacy  of  this  mode  of 
reasoning,  but  continued  :  — 

"  Has  this  hillock  never  been  opened  by  the  Earls  of 
Ormsby  to  see  what  it  contains  ?  " 

1 88 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

It  was  strange,  Idris  thought,  that  while  the  tumulus 
had  retained  the  true  Norse  name  of  the  Viking,  his  de 
scendants,  the  Ravengars,  should  have  remembered  him 
only  by  his  Latinized  name  of  Draco.  This  explained 
why  Ormfell  had  never  suggested  itself  to  them  as  the 
tomb  of  their  ancestor.  In  forgetting  that  he  was  like 
wise  called  Orm,  they  had  unwittingly  deprived  them 
selves  of  an  indication  as  to  the  place  of  the  buried 
treasure. 

Idris'  musings  were  brought  to  an  end  by  Lorelie's  ris 
ing  to  take  her  departure,  which  caused  him  to  murmur 
something  about  the  sadness  of  parting. 

"  But  if  there  were  no  parting  there  would  never  be  the 
sweetness  of  meeting,"  was  her  reply. 

Was  this  no  more  than  a  pretty  saying  on  her  part ; 
or  did  she  really  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  their  next 
meeting  ? 

Emboldened  by  her  words  he  raised  her  hand  to  his 
lips  before  she  was  aware  of  his  intention. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  you  must  not  do  that,"  she  said  in  a 
trembling  voice,  and  hastily  withdrawing  her  hand  from 
his.  Her  face  was  pale :  a  strange  look  came  into  her 
eyes,  and  she  turned  and  hurried  away.  Idris,  trembling 
lest  he  should  have  given  offence,  watched  her  till  she 
was  out  of  sight,  and  then  went  slowly  back  to  Wave 
Crest. 

Verily  he  was  a  fortunate  fellow  !  Fresh  from  a  charm 
ing  tete-a-tete  with  one  fair  lady  he  was  now  to  have  the 
like  with  a  second  :  for,  on  passing  through  the  garden- 
gate,  he  saw  Beatrice  Ravengar  reading  in  a  low  chair 
beneath  the  apple-trees  —  Beatrice,  the  sea-king's  daugh 
ter,  the  descendant  of  that  very  Viking  whose  bones  re 
posed  in  Ormfell ! 

Her  heart  beat  more  quickly  as  Idris  approached.  He, 
189 


The  Viking's  Skull 

little  divining  the  cause  of  the  colour  that  played  so  en- 
chantingly  over  her  cheek,  thought  Godfrey's  sister  a 
very  pretty  maiden  indeed.  True,  she  lacked  the  dark 
starry  beauty  of  Lorelie — Idris'  tastes  ran  in  favour  of 
brunettes  —  yet  there  was  a  subtle  witchery  in  Beatrice's 
soft  grey  eyes  and  winsome  expression  ;  in  her  sunny 
hair  :  and  in  her  graceful  figure,  set  off  as  it  then  was,  by 
a  dainty  dress  of  soft  muslin. 

"  My  name,  being  Breakspear,"  said  he,  with  mock 
sternness,  as  he  took  a  seat  beside  her,  "  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  learn  that  I  have  a  lance  to  break  with 
you." 

"  And  what  have  I  done  that  is  amiss  ?  "  asked  Beatrice, 
outwardly  smiling,  but  inwardly  uneasy :  for  some  secret 
feeling  told  her  that  he  had  just  left  the  presence  of 
Mademoiselle  Riviere,  and  she  feared  lest  that  lady  should 
have  said  something  to  prejudice  her  in  the  eyes  of  Idris. 
A  fair  return,  for  had  not  she  herself  let  fall  in  Idris'  pres 
ence  words  unfriendly  to  Lorelie  ? 

"  You  have  committed  the  sin  of  omission  in  not  tell 
ing  me  that  the  armorial  shield  of  the  Ravengars  is  dec 
orated  with  a  silver  ring." 

"  I  am  aware  that  a  ring  figures  in  their  coat  of  arms," 
said  Beatrice,  with  wide,  wondering  eyes,  "  but  where  is 
my  fault  in  not  telling  you  of  it?  Surely,"  she  added, 
with  a  sudden  intuition  as  to  his  meaning, "  surely  you  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  there  is  some  connection  between 
your  runic  ring  and  the  Ravengar  device  ?  " 

Idris'  reply  was  to  repeat  the  story  he  had  just 
heard. 

"  This  is  all  new  to  me,"  said  Beatrice,  when  he  had 
finished,  "  but  then  I  never  was  a  Ravengar.  I  am  the 
daughter  of  my  mother,  and  have  taken  little,  if  any,  in 
terest  in  the  genealogy  and  family  traditions  of  my  an 
cestors,  the  belted  earls." 

190 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

"  You  should  now  look  with  more  favour  on  the  Viking's 
skull  as  being  that  of  your  great  forefather.  His  object 
in  coming  down  the  staircase  last  night  was  evidently  to 
introduce  himself  to  you,  his  youngest  descendant. — 
But  I  have  interrupted  your  reading,  for  which  I  beg  par 
don.  May  I  ask  the  title  of  your  book  ?  " 

"  Longfellow's  '  Saga  of  King  Olaf'  You  have  read 
it?" 

"  No :  but  a  Norse  saga  in  verse  is,  by  its  very  nature, 
certain  to  interest  me.  Will  you  not  read  aloud,  Miss 
Ravengar?" 

There  is  little  Beatrice  would  not  have  done  to  please 
Idris,  and  accordingly  she  began  the  reading  of  the  poem. 
Her  voice  was  clear  and  silvery,  and  marked  at  times  by 
a  cadence,  plaintive  and  pretty.  Idris  would  have  fared 
ill  had  he  been  required  to  give  a  summary  of  the  poem, 
for  he  paid  little  attention  to  the  words,  finding  a  greater 
charm  in  the  face  and  voice  of  the  reader.  More  than 
once  the  thought  stole  over  him  that  if  he  had  not  seen 
Mademoiselle  Riviere  his  love  might  have  found  its  rest 
ing-place  in  Beatrice. 

Reading  smoothly  onward  Beatrice  came  to  the  scene 
in  which  the  reluctant  bride  Gudrun,  on  her  wedding- 
night,  draws  near  to  the  couch  of  Olaf,  dagger  in  hand 
and  murder  in  her  heart. 

«  «  What  is  that,'  King  Olaf  said, 
'  Gleams  so  bright  above  thy  head  ? 
Wherefore  standest  thou  so  white 
In  pale  moonlight  ?  ' 

"  '  Tis  the  bodkin  that  I  wear 
When  at  night  I  bind  my  hair.'  " 

Beatrice  paused.  "  Bodkin  ?  "  she  said.  "  That's  not 
the  right  word.  Ladies  don't  fasten  their  hair  with  bod 
kins." 

191 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Poets  do  not  speak  with  the  precision  of  grammarians. 
I  suppose  he  should  have  said  hairpin." 

"  Did  they  use  hairpins  in  those  days,  then  ?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  replied  Idris,  being  a  little  hazy 
on  the  point,  nevertheless. 

"  Gudrun  must  have  worn  a  very  large  hairpin,  if  she 
could  liken  a  dagger  to  it." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  not  very  unlike  the  stiletto  con 
trivances  worn  by  ladies  of  the  present  day,"  answered 
Idris. 

" '  Tis  the  bodkin  that  I  wear 

When  at  night  I  bind  my  hair.'  " 

repeated  Beatrice.     "  At  night?     Did  she  wear  it  in  her 
hair  while  sleeping?" 

"  I  never  knew  the  lady,"  laughed  Idris,  "  so  I  am  un 
able  to  answer.  Why  shouldn't  she  ?  " 

"  Because  during  sleep  she  might  turn  her  head  upon 
the  point  and  receive  an  unpleasant  stab." 
"  You  speak  from  experience  ?  " 
"  An  experience  as  recent  only  as  last  night." 
"  We  must  leave  Gudrun's  bodkin  suspended  in  mid 
air  while  you  tell  me  how  this  happened." 

"  There  is  really  nothing  to  tell.  When  I  went  to  bed 
I  forgot  to  remove  the  stiletto  from  my  hair.  Somehow, 
I  was  unable  to  sleep  last  night." 

"  You  were  thinking  of  the  skull,  perhaps  ?  " 
"  Yes,  it  must  have  been  that,"  replied  Beatrice,  col 
ouring  at  this  prevarication,  for  had  she  spoken  truly 
she  must  have  told  him  that  he  was  the  cause  of  her  un 
rest. 

"  And  so,"  she  continued,  "  while  I  was  tossing  from 
side  to  side,  the  stiletto  must  have  got  loose,  and  in  turn 
ing  my  head  on  the  pillow  I  received  a  stab  from  the 
point  of  it.  Nothing  to  speak  of,  a  mere  scalp  wound." 

192 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

"  It  was  well  the  point  was  not  forced  into  your  brain. 
I  have  heard  of  fatal  accidents  resulting  from  the  use  of 
these  stiletto-pins.  You  discarded  it  at  once  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Forever?" 

"  O,  no.  Only  till  the  morning,"  replied  Beatrice  de 
murely. 

"  What  ?  You  have  not  let  it  serve  as  a  warning  ?  O, 
Miss  Ravengar,  Miss  Ravengar !  what  is  this  I  see  shim 
mering  in  your  hair  at  the  present  moment?" 

"  A  proof  of  feminine  vanity,  for  it  is  of  no  real  use, 
being  merely  an  ornament." 

"  May  I  inspect  the  savage  weapon  that  might  have 
ended  your  existence,  and  may  yet,  since  you  decline  to 
learn  wisdom  from  experience  ?  " 

Beatrice  drew  forth  the  hairpin.  It  was  shaped  like  a 
dagger,  the  steel  being  slender,  rounded,  and  tapering  to 
a  point :  the  hilt  of  gold  set  with  brilliants. 

As  soon  as  Idris  saw  it  he  stared  at  it  as  if  mesmerized, 
the  tapering  point  of  the  slender  steel  was  so  strangely 
suggestive  of  the  metal  fragment  that  had  fallen  from  the 
Viking's  skull.  He  took  it  from  his  pocket  and  held  it 
out  to  her. 

"  Miss  Ravengar,  what  should  you  say  this  is  ?  " 

"  That?  "  replied  Beatrice.  "  That  is  a  part  of  a  hair 
pin.  See  !  " 

She  laid  it  upon  her  open  palm  beside  her  own  stiletto. 
The  terminal  of  the  latter  corresponded  exactly  in  form 
and  colour  with  the  broken  fragment :  at  least,  the  differ 
ence,  if  difference  there  were,  was  imperceptible  by  the 
naked  eye. 

"  It  certainly  looks  like  a  hairpin." 

"  Looks  like  it,  do  you  say  ?  "  said  Beatrice,  with  a 
sort  of  reproach  in  her  tone.  "  It  is"  she  asseverated 
firmly. 

13  193 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  this  opinion  other  than 
mere  resemblance  ?  "  asked  Idris,  a  little  surprised  by  her 
air  of  certitude. 

"  I  do  not  reason  upon  it.  I  know  it  is  a  hairpin,"  she 
replied,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis  upon  the  "  know." 

There  was  a  strangeness  in  her  manner,  an  entire  re 
versal  of  her  former  self :  her  face  seemed  hallowed  by  a 
light  like  the  inspired  expression  of  a  sibyl.  The  ex 
pression  was  momentary  only,  dying  as  soon  as  born, 
but  it  left  Idris  curiously  impressed. 

"  Hilda  the  Alruna  may  have  looked  like  that,  when 
delivering  her  oracles,"  he  thought. 

"  Why  do  you  value  this  piece  of  steel  ? "  asked 
Beatrice,  as  she  restored  it  to  him. 

"  This  little  piece  of  steel,  Miss  Ravengar,  is  nothing 
less  than  the  instrument  that  gave  your  ancestor  Orm  his 
coup-de-grace.  It  dropped  out  of  the  skull  last  night. 
For  the  future  my  motto  must  be,  '  When  in  doubt,  con 
sult  Miss  Ravengar.'  By  your  wit  I  was  enabled  to  dis 
cover  the  secret  entrance  to  Ormfell;  and  now,  when 
wondering  of  what  this  steel  fragment  once  formed  part, 
you  come  to  my  aid  again  by  reading  a  poem  concern 
ing  a  Norse  lady,  whose  intended  action  towards  her 
husband  seems  almost  to  have  a  direct  bearing  upon  the 
Viking's  skull.  Our  Norse  forefathers,  you  will  remem 
ber,  were  accustomed  to  regard  their  maidens  as  prophet 
esses,  whose  opinions,  when  solemnly  invoked,  were  to 
be  received  as  oracles.  I  will  imitate  their  example,  and 
accept  your  dictum  that  this  is  a  fragment  of  a  lady's 
hairpin." 

Godfrey,  who  had  joined  the  pair  a  few  minutes  pre 
viously,  and  had  stood  a  silent  listener  of  the  conversa 
tion,  now  intervened  with  a  remark. 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  admit,"  said  he,  "  that  this 
opinion  clashes  with  the  story  told  by  the  tapestry,  which 

194 


The  Legend  of  the  Runic  Ring 

tapestry  avers  that  Orm  died  with  a  cloth-yard  shaft 
sticking  in  him." 

"  The  two  ideas  are  not  irreconcilable,"  argued  Idris. 
"  My  belief  is  that  we  have  here,"  holding  up  the  piece 
of  steel,  "  a  silent  testimony  to  a  domestic  tragedy  of  a 
thousand  years  ago.  Old  Orm  the  Viking  was  carried 
from  the  battle-field  wounded  by  an  arrow.  His  wife 
Hilda  was  perhaps  enamoured  of  some  other  warrior: 
and  so,  while  affecting  to  nurse  her  husband,  she  may 
have  hastened  his  end  by  secretly  driving  her  strong  hair 
pin  into  his  head,  a  feat  she  could  perform  with  compara 
tive  safety  to  herself,  there  being  no  coroner's  inquest  in 
those  days.  His  death  would  be  attributed  to  the  arrow- 
wound,  and  therefore  is  so  represented  on  the  tapestry." 

"  If  your  inference  be  right,"  said  Beatrice,  "  it  is  a 
strange  verification  of  the  old  saying,  '  Murder  will  out.' 
Fancy  the  crime  coming  to  light  after  the  lapse  of  a 
thousand  years  !  Though  it  is  not  very  kind  of  you, 
Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  added,  with  a  mock  pout,  "  to  at 
tempt  to  prove  that  my  ancestress  Hilda  was  a  murder 
ess.  You  will  be  saying  next  that  a  taste  for  assassination 
is  one  of  our  family  traits,  and  that  the  homicidal  microbe 
runs  in  my  blood." 

"  The  lapse  of  ten  centuries  will  have  effectually  elimi 
nated  it." 

"  Merci  !  "  she  returned,  dropping  him  a  mock  curtsey. 
"  Yes :  it  is  consoling  to  reflect  that  this  little  piece  of 
family  scandal  is  removed  from  us  by  the  space  of  a  full 
millennium." 

"  But  Idris  is  altogether  wrong  in  his  theory,"  re 
marked  Godfrey  decisively.  "  This  piece  of  steel  is  not 
ancient  at  all." 

"  Ay,  ay,  destroyer  of  my  romance ! "  returned  Idris. 
"  Can  you  give  me  satisfactory  proof  that  it  is  not 
ancient  ?" 

195 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  I  think  so :  if  you  will  let  me  do  what  I  like  with  it." 

Idris  shook  his  head. 

"  I  value  this  fragment,"  he  explained,  "  believing  in 
its  antiquity.  You  would  not  willingly  destroy  the  bullet 
that  killed  Nelson,  nor  will  I  consent  to  destroy  the 
weapon  that  slew  my  Viking." 

"  But  if  I  could  clearly  demonstrate  to  you  that  it  is  a 
modern  piece  of  steel  —  what  then  ?  " 

"  In  that  case  it  would  lose  its  chief  value  in  my  eyes, 
and  it  would  prove,  among  other  things,  that  the  skull  is 
not  Orm's :  for  if  this  steel  be  modern,  so  likewise  must 
be  the  skull.  But  how  are  you  going  to  prove  its 
modernity?  Are  not  iron  and  steel  alike  in  all  ages  ?  Is 
the  steel  that  was  wrought  on  the  anvil  of  the  Norse 
armourer  different  from  the  steel  forged  to-day  in  the 
foundries  of  Sheffield  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  some  respects.  I  want  to  conduct  a  chemical 
experiment  with  this  relic,  an  experiment  which  will 
necessitate  its  destruction.  Still,  if  I  succeed  in  demon 
strating  its  modernity  you  will  not  object  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it.  But  are  you  likely  to  demonstrate 
it?" 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  am  open  to  failure.  My  opinion 
rests  upon  a  certain  assumption,  which  assumption,  if  cor 
rect,  will  conclusively  show  that  this  steel  was  forged 
within  modern  times.  Nous  verrons" 


196 


CHAPTER  XII   - 

IDRIS  DECLARES  HIS  LOVE 

HOW  long  should  a  man  have  known  a  woman 
before  venturing  upon  a  proposal  of  love? 
Such  was  the  question  now  occupying  the 
mind  of  Idris. 

He  had  seen  Mademoiselle  Riviere  three  times  only : 
he  had  not  spent  above  seven  hours  in  her  presence :  yet 
had  they  been  seven  hundred  instead  of  seven  he  knew 
that  his  feeling  for  her  would  be  no  stronger  at  the  end 
of  that  time  than  at  the  beginning.  The  moon  might 
have  its  period  of  crescent  and  wane :  not  so  his  love :  its 
circle  was  full  and  complete  from  the  first  moment  of  his 
setting  eyes  upon  her. 

She  was  now  the  sole  object  of  his  thoughts.  All 
other  matters :  the  quest  for  his  father,  the  problem  of 
the  Viking's  skull,  were  relegated  to  the  dim  and  distant 
future;  what  were  they  compared  with  the  winning  of 
Lorelie  ? 

He  found  himself  continually  dwelling  upon  her  man 
ner  towards  him  at  the  moment  of  their  last  parting.  He 
was  uncertain  whether  she  was  startled  only,  or  vexed,  by 
his  act  of  gallantry  ;  whether  he  must  draw  hope  or  de 
spair  from  that  event ;  and  he  knew  not  which  was  the 
wiser  course  —  to  declare  his  love  at  once,  or  to  defer  the 
proposal  till  he  had  gained  a  greater  hold  upon  her  affec 
tions.  A  too  premature  avowal  might  be  disastrous :  on 
the  other  hand  to  be  dilatory  might  lead  to  his  being 
forestalled  by  Viscount  Walden. 

This  latter  argument  prevailed  with  him,  and  he  re- 
197 


The  Viking's  Skull 

solved  to  see  Lorelie  at  once,  and  take  the  momentous 
step  of  giving  utterance  to  his  feelings.  Even  rejection 
was  preferable  to  the  state  of  suspense  in  which  he  was 
now  living. 

On  presenting  himself  at  The  Cedars  he  was  told  by 
the  maid  who  opened  the  door  that  her  mistress  was  out. 
Where  had  she  gone?  The  maid  was  not  certain,  but 
she  fancied  that  "  Ma'amzelle  "  had  said  something  about 
spending  the  afternoon  in  Ravenhall  Park. 

Accordingly  Idris  betook  himself  to  this  park,  a  large 
extent  of  which  was  open  to  the  public :  and  after  a  short 
search  he  found  Lorelie  seated  within  a  charming  recess 
formed  by  dark  rocks  overhung  with  blossoming  foliage. 
She  was  holding  in  her  hand  a  small  writing-pad,  upon 
which  lay  some  sheets  of  manuscript  that  she  was  appar 
ently  correcting  and  annotating  with  a  pencil,  doubtless 
putting  some  emendatory  touches  to  her  drama,  The 
Fatal  Skull. 

The  place,  though  picturesque,  was  hardly  the  ideal 
spot  for  his  love-avowal,  since  it  was  within  sight  of  the 
majestic  towers  of  Ravenhall,  which,  in  Idris'  opinion, 
offered  a  very  powerful  argument  in  favour  of  Lord  Wai- 
den's  suit. 

On  seeing  Idris  Lorelie  at  once  made  way  for  him  on 
the  seat  beside  her,  the  glad  light  in  her  eyes  showing 
that  he  was  far  from  being  an  unwelcome  visitor. 

Though  Idris  had  set  out  in  bold  spirit,  yet  now,  faced 
by  opportunity,  he  began  to  realize  that  the  task  required 
more  courage  than  he  was  master  of:  and  for  a  long 
time  he  talked  of  other  matters,  or  rather  he  let  Lorelie 
carry  on  the  conversation,  finding  it  easier  to  be  a  listener 
than  a  speaker. 

And  Lorelie  could  talk :  charmingly,  and  upon  many 
topics  that  are  supposed  to  be  the  peculiar  province  of 
the  masculine  mind.  She  had  never  seemed  so  bright 

198 


Idris  Declares  His  Love 

and  interesting  as  on  this  present  occasion.  How  sweet 
and  silvery  her  laugh  !  How  pretty  the  curve  of  her  lips, 
and  how  glowing  their  colour !  Supposing  he  were  to 
stoop  suddenly  and  kiss  them  ?  Would  not  such  an  act 
be  tantamount  to  a  love-avowal,  and  thus  relieve  him 
from  the  difficulty  of  an  oral  confession  ? 

Lorelie,  observant  at  last  of  Idris'  quiet  manner,  rallied 
him  on  his  want  of  spirits. 

"  You  seem  very  grave  to-day,  Mr.  Breakspear?" 

"  Do  I,  mademoiselle  ?     I  am  thinking." 

"  May  I  share  your  thoughts  ?  " 

"  You  may  share  my  life  if  you  will." 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  what  are  you  saying  ?  "  exclaimed 
Lorelie,  quickly,  breathlessly. 

"  That  I  love  you.  Is  that  a  fault  ?  Nay,  rather,  it 
would  be  a  fault  not  to  love  you." 

Lorelie  drew  a  deep  shuddering  breath.  Their  eyes 
met :  a  strange  wistful  tenderness  in  hers.  Such  a  look 
Idris  had  never  before  received  from  woman  :  he  knew 
what  it  meant,  and  grew  giddy  at  the  thought  that  he  had 
the  power  to  evoke  it. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  all  was  changed ! 

A  priestess,  starting  in  agony  from  the  Delphic  tripod, 
could  not  have  exhibited  a  wilder  mien  than  did  Lorelie 
at  that  moment  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  her  hands  pressed 
to  her  bosom  as  if  to  repress  the  emotion  struggling 
there :  in  her  eyes  an  expression  of  horror,  the  startled 
guilty  look  of  one  who,  tempted  to  listen  to  wrong,  is 
suddenly  recalled  to  a  sense  of  duty. 

Idris  had  wanted  to  say  more,  to  speak  of  the  depth  of 
his  love,  but  that  look  chilled  all  the  warmth  of  his  feel 
ings,  and  checked  the  words  that  were  rising  to  his  lips. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,"  she  began,  with  a  strange  "  catch  " 
in  her  voice,  "  you  saved  my  life  from  the  sea,  and  it  may 
be  that  gratitude  has  led  me  to  —  to  —  how  shall  I  ex- 

199 


The  Viking's  Skull 

press  myself?  —  to  be  too  warm  in  my  friendship.  I 
have  not  guarded  myself  sufficiently.  If  there  has  been 
anything  in  my  manner  or  words  calculated  to  impress 
you  with  the  belief  that  your  addresses  would  be  accept 
able  to  me,  I  beg  —  I  entreat  —  of  you  to  forgive  me. 
Such  utterance  —  such  action  —  on  my  part  has  been  un 
intentional.  I  cannot  listen  to  you." 

With  many  women  a  "  No "  may  sometimes  mean 
"  Yes,"  but  this  was  not  the  case  with  Lorelie  Riviere. 
Idris  felt  that  her  decision  was  final,  irrevocable.  And 
yet  what  was  the  meaning  of  that  first  look  of  rapture 
that  had  come  into  her  eyes  ? 

"  You  do  well  to  refuse  me,  mademoiselle :  to  refuse 
in  truth  any  suitor,  for  who  indeed  is  worthy  of  you, 
but- 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  for  pity's  sake  be  silent.     See !  " 

She  drew  something  from  her  dress-pocket,  turned 
aside  for  a  moment,  and  then  held  out  the  third  finger  of 
her  left  hand.  And  at  the  sight  Idris,  strong  man  though 
he  was,  staggered  as  a  man  may  stagger  on  hearing  his 
death  sentence. 

"  Great  heaven  !  You  are  not  married  ? "  he  said 
hoarsely. 

"  Ten  months  ago.     Secretly.     At  Nice." 

•«To  —  to ?" 

But  he  knew  the  name  before  she  pronounced  it. 

"  To  Lord  Walden  —  yes." 

The  earth  that  afternoon  was  roofed  with  a  sky  of 
deep  delicious  azure :  the  soft  breeze  rippled  the  leaves 
of  the  woodland,  and  at  each  breath  the  air  became  alive 
with  the  white  blossoms  of  the  trees.  Nothing  could  be 
sweeter  or  fairer  than  this  summer  day,  but  its  charm 
was  not  for  Idris.  With  the  knowledge  that  Lorelie  could 
never  be  his,  there  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

Mechanically  he  turned  his  eyes  towards  Ravenhall. 
200 


Idris  Declares  His  Love 

Lorelie  followed  the  direction  of  his  glance.  Through  a 
vista  in  the  trees  they  could  see  the  castellated  pile,  set 
with  mullioned  casements,  and  fronted  with  ivied  terraces 
ascended  by  stately  flights  of  stone  steps.  She  knew  — 
and  bitter  was  the  knowledge  —  that  Idris  was  thinking 
that  there  was  the  prize  for  which  she  had  sold  herself. 

He  wronged  her,  however,  by  this  thought. 

When  Lorelie,  eighteen  months  before,  had  listened  to 
the  vows  of  Viscount  Walden  she  had  honestly  believed 
herself  to  be  in  love  with  him.  Idris'  avowal  had  shown 
her  the  hollowness  of  that  belief.  Vivid  as  fire  on  a  dark 
night  there  suddenly  flashed  upon  her  trembling  mind 
the  overwhelming  revelation  that  her  feeling  for  her  hus 
band  was  as  nothing  compared  with  her  feeling  for  Idris. 
If  all  the  happiness  she  had  previously  known  had  been 
suddenly  sublimated  and  concentrated  into  one  single 
intense  sensation  of  a  moment's  duration  it  would  not 
have  equalled  the  rapture  evoked  by  Idris'  avowal.  But 
in  a  moment  the  feeling  had  gone,  giving  place  to  the 
dull  lethargy  of  despair.  Though  realizing  but  too 
plainly  that  she  had  married  the  wrong  man,  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  fact  did  not  diminish  the  loyalty  due  to  her 
husband.  Faithful  she  would  ever  remain,  but  it  was  not 
her  fault  if  the  love  that  she  could  henceforth  give  him 
would  be  scarcely  deserving  of  the  name. 

She  would  have  died  rather  than  have  given  utterance 
to  this  confession,  but  Idris  had  read  the  secret  in  her 
eyes :  she  knew  that  he  had  read  it,  and  the  knowledge 
added  to  her  confusion  and  made  her  unable  to  meet  his 
glance. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  What  was 
there  to  talk  about  ?  Their  mutual  love  ?  That  was  of 
necessity  a  forbidden  subject;  and  to  talk  of  anything 
less  than  this  seemed  a  mockery  of  the  deep  feelings 
within  them. 

20 1 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Parted  from  Lorelie  by  adverse  fortune  what  remained 
for  Idris  but  to  face  the  situation  bravely  ? 

"  Mademoiselle/'  he  said,  using  from  habit  the  title  that 
was  no  longer  hers,  "  I  take  my  leave.  Forgive  me,  if 
my  words  have  caused  you  pain.  Farewell." 

"  But  not  forever.  We  may  meet  from  time  to  time 
as  —  as  friends." 

Did  she  not  realize  that  such  friendship  might  be 
perilous  ?  No :  and  as  Idris  gazed  upon  her  clear 
eyes  he  saw  there  a  spirit  too  pure  to  suffer  itself  to 
do  wrong. 

"  You  must  forget,"  she  faltered,  "  that  you  have  ever 
entertained  this  —  this  feeling  for  me." 

Idris  smiled  bitterly.  He  knew  —  she  knew  - —  that  it 
was  the  one  event  in  their  lives  they  never  would  forget. 

At  their  last  parting  he  had  kissed  her  hand :  he  did 
not  venture  even  to  touch  it  now,  but,  lifting  his  hat,  he 
quietly  withdrew. 

With  tears  in  her  eyes  Lorelie  watched  him  till  he  was 
lost  to  view. 

"  If  you  knew  the  truth,"  she  murmured,  "  your  feeling 
for  me  would  not  be  love  but  hatred." 

In  melancholy  mood  Idris  returned  to  Wave  Crest. 
Beatrice,  quick  to  interpret  his  looks,  guessed  what  had 
happened :  and  though  the  result  was  such  as  she  herself 
desired,  yet  the  sight  of  his  dejection  touched  her  to  the 
quick  and  filled  her  with  a  mixed  feeling  of  pity  and 
anger.  Who,  forsooth,  was  Mademoiselle  Riviere  that 
she  should  treat  Idris'  love  as  of  no  account  ? 

Aware  that  Lorelie  was  not  favourably  regarded  by 
Beatrice  Idris  had  prudently  refrained  from  making  the 
latter  a  confidante  of  his  love-affair,  but  now,  sitting  down 
beside  her,'  he  proceeded  to  tell  her  all. 

But  when  Beatrice  heard  the  amazing  news  that  Lorelie 
Riviere  was  in  reality  Viscountess  Walden,  and  therefore 

202 


Idris  Declares  His  Love 

her  cousin  by  marriage,  a  look  not  merely  of  wonder  but 
of  dismay  stole  over  her  face. 

"  Have  you  proof  of  this  ?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"  Proof  of  what  ?  "  exclaimed  Godfrey,  entering  the 
room  at  this  juncture. 

"  That  Mademoiselle  Riviere  is  Ivar's  wife,"  she 
replied. 

"  Well,  I  did  not  ask  her  to  produce  her  marriage 
certificate,"  said  Idris,  somewhat  vexed  that  Lorelie's 
word  should  be  doubted.  "  For  the  truth  of  her  words 
I  had  better  refer  you  to  your  cousin,  Lord  Walden  him 
self.  We  see  now  the  cause  of  his  surliness  the  other 
night.  Any  fellow  with  so  lovely  a  wife  might  be 
jealous  on  learning  that  she  had  spent  five  hours  in  a 
lonely  cave  tete-a-tete  with  a  stranger." 

"  He  might,  nevertheless,  have  had  the  grace  to  give 
you  a  few  words  of  thanks  for  saving  her  life,"  remarked 
Godfrey.  "  I  suppose  it  is  from  fear  of  his  father  that  he 
keeps  the  marriage  a  secret?" 

"  Presumably." 

"  Hum !  rather  hazardous  to  bring  her  so  near  to 
Ravenhall,"  said  Godfrey. 

"And  she  is  really  married?"  murmured  Beatrice. 
"  O,  how  I  have  wronged  her  !  " 

"In  what  way ? "  asked  Godfrey.  " Come,  Trixie,  let 
us  learn  the  reason  of  your  past  aversion." 

It  was  some  time  before  Beatrice  could  be  induced  to 
reply. 

"  You  remember  the  case  of  old  Gideon  ?  "  she  said  at 
last. 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Godfrey,  adding  for  Idris'  enlight 
enment,  "  he  was  an  old  farmer  at  the  point  of  death.  I 
was  unable  to  procure  a  nurse,  and  Trixie  generously 
offered  her  services.  The  poor  fellow  died  at  midnight; 
and  Trixie,  though  pressed  to  remain,  left  the  place  and 

203 


The  Viking's  Skull 

came  walking  home  all  by  herself,  reaching  here  at  two 
in  the  morning.  But  what  has  this  to  do  with  Madem 
oiselle  Riviere — I  beg  her  pardon,  Lady  Walden?" 

"  On  my  way  home,"  replied  Beatrice,  "  I  had  to  pass 
her  villa,  and  whom  should  I  see  walking  up  the  garden- 
path  towards  the  house  but  Ivar  himself !  He  had  not 
noticed  me,  and  I  did  not  make  myself  known  to  him : 
in  truth  I  was  so  much  amazed  that  I  could  do  nothing 
but  stand  silent  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  watching, 
or,  if  you  will,  playing  the  spy.  I  saw  him  open  the 
door  of  the  villa  with  a  key  of  his  own,  and  go  in.  Not 
knowing  that  he  was  married  to  Mademoiselle  Riviere, 
what  conclusion  could  I  come  to  but  that  —  that  — 

And  here  Beatrice  paused,  leaving  her  hearers  to  guess 
the  nature  of  her  conclusion. 

"And  you  thought  that  of  Mademoiselle  Riviere?" 
said  Idris :  and  Beatrice  felt  keenly  the  reproach  in  his 
tone. 

"  I  have  never  whispered  my  suspicion  to  any  one  — 
not  even  to  you,  Godfrey." 

"  The  sequel  shows  the  advantage  of  holding  one's 
tongue,"  replied  her  brother.  "  It  has  saved  you  from 
having  to  make  a  humiliating  apology  to  the  new  vis 
countess.  Well,  seeing  that  she  is  now  your  cousin,  you 
cannot  do  better  than  acknowledge  the  relationship  by 
making  a  call  upon  her." 

But  Beatrice  shrank  from  this  ordeal. 

"  I  have  always  shown  her  by  my  manner  that  I  dis 
like  her.  She  must  think  me  an  odious  creature." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Idris,  "  whenever  your 
name  has  been  mentioned  she  has  spoken  well  of  you, 
and  has  expressed  herself  as  desirous  of  your  friend 
ship." 

Beatrice  was  finally  persuaded  into  promising  that  she 
would  pay  the  new  viscountess  a  visit  on  the  morrow : 

204 


Idris  Declares  His  Love 

after  which,  Godfrey,  turning  to  Idris,  addressed  himself 
to  a  new  theme. 

"  I  spent  this  morning,"  he  said,  "  in  my  laboratory 
over  that  piece  of  steel  taken  from  your  so-called  Vik 
ing's  skull,  and  I  have  discovered  it  to  be  of  modern 
fabrication." 

"  Ah  !  and  how  do  you  prove  it  ?  "  said  Idris,  prepar 
ing  to  argue  the  point. 

"  Chemical  analysis  shows  that  the  steel  contains  two 
per  cent,  of  platinum." 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  said  Idris  bluntly. 

"  Much.  Platinum  is  a  metal  of  modern  discovery, 
first  hit  on  in  the  year  —  well,  I  forget  the  exact  date, 
some  time  about  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Therefore,  any  steel  that  is  combined  with  platinum  must 
have  been  forged  within  the  past  two  hundred  years,  and 
consequently  cannot  be  a  relic  of  Norse  days." 

"  For  what  purpose  is  platinum  mixed  with  the 
steel  ? " 

"  To  impart  additional  hardness." 

"  I  must  accept  your  dictum  as  final.  Of  course  the 
conclusion  is  that  if  the  steel  be  modern,  the  skull  must 
be  modern,  too.  I  must  give  up  my  belief,  Miss  Raven- 
gar,  that  I  possess  the  skull  of  your  Viking  ancestor. 
But  then,"  he  went  on,  "  Orm  was  buried  within  that 
hillock :  the  pictured  tapestry  and  the  name  Ormfell 
prove  it.  What,  then,  has  become  of  his  remains  ?  " 

"  Crumbled  to  dust,  perhaps,  with  the  lapse  of  time," 
suggested  Beatrice. 

"  The  existence  of  the  tapestry  confutes  you.  Solid 
bone  would  not  crumble,  if  a  woollen  fabric  will  endure." 

"  True,"  replied  Beatrice,  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  I  am 
forgetting  the  tapestry.  Here's  a  mystery,  indeed ! 
What  has  become  of  the  Viking's  bones  ?  " 

"  If  the  skeleton  within  the  tumulus  be  that  of  a 

205 


The  Viking's  Skull 

modern  person,"  said  Idris,  "  how  on  earth  came  it 
there?  Who  buried  him,  and 

"  We  do  not  yet  know  that  it  is  a  '  him,'  "  interjected 
Godfrey.  "  The  skeleton  may  be  the  remains  of  a 
woman." 

"  I  speak  provisionally.  Who  buried  him,  or  her,  and 
why  should  such  a  strange  grave  be  chosen  ?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  the  surgeon,  gravely,  "  because,  my 
dear  Idris,  cannot  you  see  that  the  present  occupant  of 
Ormfell  did  not  die  a  natural  death  ?  The  piece  of  steel 
lodged  in  the  brain  proves  that.  He  was  murdered, 
murdered  with  a  stiletto  hairpin  :  and  he,  or  they,  that 
did  the  deed,  knowing,  as  we  know,  that  Ormfell  contains 
a  grave-chamber,  disposed  of  the  victim's  body  by  plac 
ing  it  within  the  hillock,  no  doubt  thinking  that  the 
remains,  if  ever  discovered,  would  be  taken  for  those  of 
some  ancient  warrior,  an  error  into  which  we  ourselves 
would  have  fallen  had  not  that  tapestry  remained,  I 
might  say,  providentially  remained,  to  tell  us  otherwise." 

For  a  few  moments  both  Beatrice  and  Idris  sat  dumb 
founded  at  this  startling  theory. 

"  By  heaven !  I  believe  you  are  right,"  cried  Idris. 
"  And  yet  this  murder-theory  of  yours  is  open  to  objec 
tion.  There  is  the  difficulty  of  conveying  a  dead  body 
to  Ormfell.  Consider  the  risk  of  detection  that  the 
murderer  would  run." 

"  The  murder  may  have  taken  place  within  Ormfell 
itself,"  suggested  Beatrice. 

"  That  is  my  view,"  replied  Godfrey,  "  for  there  are 
signs  which  seem  to  point  to  that  conclusion." 

"  What  signs  are  they?  "  asked  Idris. 

"  You  will  perhaps  think  my  first  reason  fanciful,"  re 
plied  Godfrey.  "  You  have  continually  maintained,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  Idris,  "  that  the  divining  rod  took  a 
downward  bend  at  a  certain  point  in  the  mortuary  cham- 

206 


Idris  Declares  His  Love 

her.  What  formed  the  attractive  force  ?  '  The  voice 
of  thy  brother's  blood  crieth  unto  me  from  the  ground ! ' 
Shall  we  say  that  that  was  the  true  cause?  For 
human  blood  has  been  shed  there.  Have  you  forgotten 
how  the  tapestry  taken  from  that  very  spot  reddened  the 
water  in  which  it  was  placed  ?  Now  let  us  suppose  that 
some  one  standing  at  that  point  was  suddenly  struck 
down  from  behind  :  his  natural  action  in  falling  would 
be  to  clutch  at  the  nearest  thing  he  could  lay  hold  of." 

"  Which  in  his  case  would  be  the  tapestry,"  interjected 
Idris. 

"Just  so:  and  that  is  my  way  of  accounting  for  the 
tearing  of  that  fabric,  and  the  downward  curvature  of  the 
rod  to  which  it  was  attached.  The  tapestry  at  the  same 
time  became  saturated  with  the  blood  of  the  victim." 

"  Your  opinion  seems  reasonable,"  remarked  Idris, 
"  except  as  regards  the  divining  rod ;  I  can't  believe  that 
dried  blood  could  produce  such  an  effect.  But  the 
difficulty  remains  —  what  has  become  of  the  Viking's 
bones  ?  " 

And  to  this  question  Godfrey  could  give  no  satisfactory 
answer. 

"  When  do  you  think  this  murder  took  place  ?  "  Idris 
asked.  "  In  our  own  days,  or  long  before  them  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  way  at  present  of  fixing  the  date,"  Godfrey 
replied. 

"  It  may  have  been  twenty,  fifty,  or  a  hundred  years 
ago,  or  even  more,"  ventured  Idris. 

"  Any  period  since  the  era  of  the  discovery  of 
platinum,"  answered  Godfrey. 

"  Is  there  no  way  in  these  scientific  times  of  ascertain 
ing  the  age  of  that  skull  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

Godfrey  shook  his  head. 

"  The  most  skilled  anatomist  would  be  puzzled  to  de 
termine  the  age  of  a  given  skull,"  he  replied. 

207 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Idris  paced  uneasily  to  and  fro,  assigning  the  skull  in 
turn  to  each  of  those  who,  to  his  knowledge,  had  been 
in  any  way  connected  with  the  runic  ring  —  his  father, 
Lorelie's  father,  the  unknown  assassin  of  Duchesne,  and 
lastly  the  masked  man  of  Quilaix. 

"  Whoever  the  victim  was,"  said  Beatrice,  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  "  he  must  have  been  murdered  by  a 
woman." 

"A  woman!"  ejaculated  Idris.  He  could  not  tell 
why  at  that  moment  a  cold  feeling  should  come  over 
him. 

"  A  woman  !  "  repeated  Beatrice,  solemnly  :  "  for  I 
still  adhere  to  my  belief  that  the  piece  of  steel  was  a 
fragment  of  a  stiletto  hairpin,  and  who  but  a  woman 
would  think  of  using  such  an  instrument  ?  " 


208 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  LORELIE'S  VILLA 

ON  the  following  day  Beatrice  Ravengar,  with 
some  misgivings,  set  out  for  the  purpose  of 
making  an  afternoon  call  upon  Mademoiselle 
Riviere,    or,    to     use     her     rightful    title,    Viscountess 
Walden. 

Idris  accompanied  her,  nominally  as  her  escort,  in 
reality  consumed  with  the  longing  to  meet  Lorelie  again. 
True  wisdom  told  him  that  he  was  but  tormenting  him 
self  in  thus  seeing  her,  that  the  better  way  was  to  avoid 
her  altogether  :  but  he  found  this  latter  course  impossible  : 
he  despised  himself  for  his  weakness,  yet  as  the  moth  is 
attracted  by  the  light  so  was  Idris  attracted  by  the 
fascinating  personality  of  Viscountess  Walden. 

On  arriving  at  The  Cedars  Beatrice  was  received  in  a 
manner  so  gracious  and  winning  that  her  misgivings 
were  immediately  put  to  flight. 

"  We  are  cousins,  you  and  I,"  said  Lorelie,  kissing  her 
affectionately,  "  and  must  ever  be  good  friends." 

Beatrice,  quick  to  read  character,  could  tell  that  the 
other  was  really  desirous  of  her  friendship :  and  as  she 
recalled  her  unjust  suspicion  she  felt  full  of  a  guilty 
shame,  and  was  almost  tempted  to  fall  upon  her  knees, 
confess  her  fault,  and  beg  for  pardon. 

Aware  of  the  circumstances  under  which  Lorelie  and 
Idris  had  last  parted,  Beatrice  viewed  their  greeting  of 
each  other  with  an  interest  that  was  almost  painful  to 
her,  and  the  viscountess  knowing  that  she  was  watched, 
extended  to  Idris  the  dignified  courtesy  that  she  might 
*4  209 


The  Viking's  Skull 

have  extended  to  a  stranger,  though  all  the  time  she  was 
inwardly  tormented  lest  Idris  should  think  her  unduly 
cold.  None  but  herself  knew  how  her  heart  was  pulsat 
ing  beneath  her  calm  exterior.  She  was  not  to  be 
blamed,  she  argued,  for  the  feeling  that  had  sprung  up 
self-originated  within  her  breast.  Action  and  tongue 
may  be  controlled  :  thought  never.  So  long,  then,  as 
she  controlled  her  words  and  action,  what  more  was  re 
quired  of  her  ?  What  more  ?  A  secret  voice  seemed 
to  say,  "  Never  to  see  Idris  again  !  " 

They  sat  on  the  veranda  conversing  on  various  topics, 
and  as  Beatrice  listened  to  the  charming  words  and  the 
sweet  laugh  of  the  viscountess,  and  contemplated  her 
brilliant  beauty,  she  no  longer  wondered  that  Idris  should 
have  fallen  in  love  with  her. 

During  the  course  of  the  conversation  some  details  of 
Lorelie's  history  became  revealed. 

She  was  now  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and  had  been 
born  at  Nantes  in  the  same  year  in  which  her  father, 
Captain  Rochefort,  had  aided  Eric  Marville  to  escape 
from  the  Breton  prison.  Her  father  she  had  never 
known,  nor  had  he  ever  been  seen  again  by  Madame 
Rochefort  after  his  flight  in  the  yacht  Nemesis. 

When  Lorelie  was  sixteen  years  of  age  her  mother 
died,  leaving  to  her  an  income  sufficient  with  economy 
for  her  maintenance.  Henceforward  she  had  led  a  soli 
tary  independent  life,  content  with  her  books  and  music. 
In  her  twenty-first  year  she  met  Lord  Walden  at 
Monaco. 

They  were  married  privately,  and  while  the  earl  sup 
posed  his  son  to  be  carrying  on  the  course  of  study 
requisite  for  the  diplomatic  profession,  that  son  was  in 
reality  quietly  celebrating  his  honeymoon  on  the  Riviera. 

After  a  few  months  of  wedded  life  Lorelie  suddenly 
conceived  the  purpose  of  visiting  Ormsby,  though  her 

210 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

husband  was  opposed  to  the  idea.  By  preconcerted  ar 
rangement  she  took  up  her  residence  at  The  Cedars, 
some  weeks  prior  to  Ivar's  home-coming,  lest  their  coin 
cident  arrival  should  give  rise  to  suspicion. 

And  here  she  remained,  concealing  her  rightful  name 
and  rank  in  compliance  with  Ivar's  wish,  and  waiting  till 
a  favourable  opportunity  should  arrive  for  making  the 
marriage  known  to  the  stern  old  earl. 

Secret  contempt  stole  over  Idris  at  the  course  pursued 
by  the  viscount.  A  man  might  be  very  well  content  to 
brave  his  father's  anger  and  the  loss  of  an  estate,  how 
ever  splendid,  for  such  a  wife  as  Lorelie.  By  some 
subtle  process  of  telepathy  his  thoughts  communicated 
themselves  to  her,  and  knowing  that  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  at  such  sacrifice,  the  viscountess  trembled  and 
durst  not  meet  his  glance,  lest  he  should  read  in  her  eyes 
more  than  he  ought.  Contrary  to  the  proverb  the  third 
person  on  this  occasion  was  not  de  trap.  Lorelie  felt 
grateful  for  the  presence  of  Beatrice,  and  clung  to  her  as 
to  a  protecting  angel. 

"  May  I  add  one  to  this  pleasant  trio  ?  "  said  a  new 
voice,  breaking  in  upon  them  :  and,  looking  up,  Idris 
caught  the  suspicious  glance  of  the  man  whom  he  was 
striving  not  to  hate — Lorelie's  husband  ! 

Lord  Walden  coldly  acknowledged  Idris'  presence, 
smiled  at  Beatrice,  and  still  keeping  up  the  pretence  of 
being  merely  a  personal  friend  of  Lorelie's,  was  address 
ing  her  as  "  Mademoiselle  Riviere,"  when  Beatrice  inter 
vened  with,  "  Why  disguise  the  truth,  Cousin  Ivar  ?  We 
know  that  there  is  no  Mademoiselle  Riviere  now." 

"  Ah  !  then  that  makes  it  much  more  pleasant  for  all 
concerned." 

But  though  he  spoke  thus,  there  was  on  his  face  a  look 
that  showed  he  was  not  over-pleased  to  learn  that  the 
truth  had  become  known. 

211 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  You  may  rely  upon  our  secrecy,"  added  Beatrice, 
thinking  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 

"  I  trust  so,"  replied  Ivar,  coldly. 

He  took  a  seat  beside  Lorelie,  and  proceeded  to  roll  a 
cigarette,  remarking  as  he  did  so,  "  You  do  not  object?  " 

Lorelie  assented  with  a  smile  that  evoked  the  jealousy 
of  the  foolish  Idris.  If  a  woman  may  not  smile  upon  her 
husband,  upon  whom  may  she  smile  ? 

Concluding  that  he  and  Beatrice  were  better  away, 
Idris  now  arose,  but  Lorelie  opposed  their  departure. 

"  Going  after  so  short  a  stay  ?  "  she  remonstrated. 
"  Now  you  are  here  you  must  remain  for  the  evening, 
and  —  and  Mr.  Breakspear  as  well,"  she  added,  glancing 
at  Idris. 

Her  manner  was  so  persuasive  that  the  two  visitors 
lacked  courage  to  refuse  the  invitation.  Thinking,  how 
ever,  that  the  viscount  and  his  wife  might  wish  to  ex 
change  confidences,  Idris  offered  his  arm  to  Beatrice  and 
invited  her  to  a  stroll  through  the  grounds  that  sur 
rounded  the  villa. 

As  Beatrice  withdrew  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Idris  and 
blushing  at  some  compliment  of  his,  Lorelie  glanced  after 
them  with  a  touch  of  envy  in  her  eyes.  Her  days  for 
receiving  such  attentions  were  over  :  her  husband  had 
ceased  to  be  her  lover.  She  could  not  avoid  contrasting 
the  appearance  of  the  two  men  —  Ivar's  pallid  face  and 
languid  air  with  Idris'  healthful  bronzed  complexion  and 
splendid  physique.  There  was  a  difference  of  ten  years 
in  their  ages  :  and  though  Ivar  was  scarcely  past  twenty, 
his  face  bore  signs  of  dissipation  —  signs  which  his  wife 
perceived  with  surprise  and  sorrow. 

No  sooner  were  Idris  and  Beatrice  out  of  earshot  than 
Ivar  turned  a  frowning  countenance  upon  his  wife. 

"  Why  have  you  told  them  of  our  marriage  ?  " 

"  It  was  necessary,  Ivar." 

212 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

As  she  recalled  the  occasion  of  its  disclosure  a  faint 
colour  tinged  her  cheek  ;  and  Ivar,  though  not  usually  a 
quick-witted  person,  immediately  suspected  the  cause.  . 

"  Necessitated  by  that  fellow's  making  love  to  you,  I 
presume  ?  "  he  said,  eyeing  her  keenly. 

"  Ivar,"  she  answered  quietly,  evading  his  question, 
"  so  long  as  men  think  me  free " 

"  Free  !  that's  a  good  word." 

"  So  long  as  I  am  supposed  to  be  unmarried,"  she  con 
tinued,  correcting  her  expression,  "  so  long  shall  I  be 
liable  to  receive  attentions  from  other  men.  You  can 
easily  remedy  this  by  making  our  marriage  known." 

"  O,  harping  on  that  string  again,"  said  Ivar  impa 
tiently.  "  It's  out  of  the  question  —  at  present.  The 
governor  would  never  forgive  me  for  marrying  a  woman 
of  no  family,  especially,"  he  added,  with  something  like 
a  sneer,  "  especially  a  woman  who  admits  that  there  is  a 
shadow  on  her  name." 

There  was  a  flash  of  resentment  in  the  eyes  that  were 
turned  suddenly  upon  him. 

"  You  can  bear  me  witness  it  was  before  our  marriage 
and  not  after  that  I  confessed  to  having  a  secret." 

"  You  would  not  tell  me  its  nature." 

"  No  :  nor  ever  shall,"  replied  Lorelie,  with  a  hardening 
of  her  features.  "  You  were  willing  to  take  me  as  I  was, 
and  to  ask  no  questions  as  to  my  past.  You  promised 
never  to  refer  to  my  secret.  But  —  how  often  have  you 
reproached  me  with  it  ?  " 

Ivar  smoked  on  in  moody  silence.  It  was  true  he  had 
given  no  thought  to  her  secret  in  his  first  glow  of  passion. 
A  slave  to  sensuality  he  had  married  Lorelie  for  her 
beauty,  not  knowing  who  or  whence  she  was,  ignorant 
even  that  her  true  name  was  Rochefort.  Now  that  her 
beauty  was  beginning  to  pall  upon  him,  a  fact  he  took 
little  pains  to  disguise,  this  secret  that  darkened  her  past 

213 


The  Viking's  Skull 

began  to  trouble  him.  What  answer  was  he  to  give  to 
the  editors  of  "  Debrett "  and  "  Burke,"  when  interrogated 
as  to  his  wife's  family  ? 

"  Ivar,"  Lorelie  continued  earnestly,  "  your  visits  here 
are  beginning  to  be  noticed.  My  character  is  becoming 
exposed  to  suspicions.  You  will  let  the  world  know  that 
I  am  your  wife,  will  you  not  ?  " 

No  true  man  could  have  resisted  the  appealing  glance 
of  her  eyes,  the  pleading  tone  of  her  soft  voice ;  but  Ivar, 
being  no  true  man,  was  proof  against  both. 

"  Impossible,  at  present,"  he  frowned.  "  I  have  raised 
you  from  comparative  poverty  to  affluence ;  I  have  sur 
rounded  you  with  luxury,  and,  by  heaven !  you  little 
know  at  what  cost,  and  at  what  risk  to  myself !  I  have 
made  you  my  wife  :  be  content  with  that.  You  will  be  a 
countess  some  day;  think  of  your  future  triumph  over 
those  who  slight  you  now.  If  people  talk,  you  must  put 
up  with  it,  or  go  away  from  Ormsby.  It  was  against  my 
wish  that  you  came  here.  But  your  vanity  is  such  that 
you  must  feast  your  eyes  daily  upon  your  future  heritage 
of  Ravenhall." 

"  It  was  neither  the  desire  to  see  the  Ravengar  lands, 
nor  the  wish  even  to  be  near  you,  that  drew  me  to 
Ormsby,  but  a  very  different  motive." 

"  In  the  devil's  name,  what  motive  ?  "  said  Ivar,  elevat 
ing  his  eyebrows  in  surprise. 

"  It  is  a  part  of  the  secret  of  my  life.  But,  being  here, 
here  I  remain.  And,  Ivar,  I  must  be  acknowledged,"  she 
added  firmly. 

"  Of  course :  you  are  burning  to  exhibit  yourself  as 
Viscountess  Walden ;  to  shine  in  ancestral  diamonds ;  to 
reign  at  Ravenhall ;  to  be  queen  of  the  county-side ;  to 
be  courted  and  admired  at  fetes  and  balls." 

"  No,  Ivar,  no ;  I  care  nothing  for  these  things,  but 
much  for  the  name  of  wife.  To  think  that  I  must  plead 

214 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

with  my  own  husband  to  redeem  my  name  from  reproach  ! 
What  have  you  to  fear  from  your  father's  anger  ?  As  you 
are  his  legitimate  and  only  son  he  cannot  deprive  you  of 
the  title,  even  if  he  would ;  as  to  the  Ravengar  estate,  that 
is  entailed,  and  must  therefore  descend  to  you.  Of  what, 
then,  are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  It  is  true  that  the  original  estate,  the  estate  of  the  first 
earl,  is  entailed  ;  but  since  his  day  the  Ravengar  lands  have 
more  than  doubled.  These  later  acquisitions  the  governor 
can  dispose  of  as  he  will.  If  I  offend  him  he  may  make 
them  over  to  some  one  else,  to  Beatrice  for  example,  since 
she  is  a  great  favourite  of  his." 

"  That's  a  temptation  with  me  to  reveal  our  mar 
riage,"  said  Lorelie  with  a  smile.  "  One  half  of  the 
Ravengar  estate  would  form  a  pretty  dowry  for  her  and 
Mr.  Breakspear." 

"  Her  and  Breakspear  ?  "  Ivar  repeated.  "  Is  it  your 
wish,  then,  that  he  should  marry  Beatrice  ?  That  fellow 
may  have  saved  your  life,"  he  added  darkly,  "  but  it 
doesn't  follow  that  you  must  seek  to  reward  him  with  the 
hand  of  my  cousin." 

"  Events  are  shaping  themselves  that  way,"  Lorelie 
remarked  quietly,  with  a  glance  at  the  distant  Beatrice, 
who  was  laughing  gaily  while  Idris  bent  over  her. 
"  And  really  it  can  be  no  concern  of  yours  whom  she 
marries." 

"  She  is  a  Ravengar,"  replied  Ivar,  loftily.  "  There  is 
the  family  name  to  be  considered.  Pray,  who  is  this  in 
solent  Breakspear,  that  first  makes  love  to  you,  and  now 
aspires  to  Beatrice  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Idris  Breakspear "  began  Lorelie,  and  then 

she  stopped,  surprised  at  the  look  upon  Ivar's  face. 

"  Idris  !  "  said  the  viscount  quickly.  "  Is  his  name 
Idris  ?  " 

"Yes,  why?" 

215 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  O,  nothing.  It's  an  uncommon  name,  that's  all." 
With  a  half-laugh,  he  added,  more  to  himself  than  to 
Lorelie :  "  Idris  Breakspear.  Humph  !  Now  if  it  were 
Idris  Marville ! " 

It  was  now  Lorelie's  turn  to  be  surprised.  Till  this 
moment  she  had  been  unaware  that  the  name  of  Idris 
Marville  was  known  to  her  husband. 

"  But,  Ivar,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  Marville,  and  not 
Breakspear,  happens  to  be  his  true  name." 

Lord  Walden  stopped  short  in  his  smoking,  took  the 
cigarette  from  his  lips,  and  stared  open-mouthed  at  Lorelie 
with  a  look  very  much  like  fear  upon  his  face. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "  Idris 
Marville.  But,  bah !  "  he  continued,  an  expression  of 
relief  clearing  his  features :  "  that  can't  be  the  fellow  I 
have  in  mind.  My  Idris  Marville  died  at  Paris  seven 
years  ago." 

"  And  so  did  he  —  in  the  newspapers.  For  a  reason 
of  his  own  he  let  the  world  think  that  he  had  perished  in 
a  hotel-fire." 

At  this  statement  Ivar's  agitation  became  extreme. 
The  cigarette  dropped  from  his  fingers ;  his  face  became 
livid. 

"  Why  should  his  being  alive  trouble  you  ? "  asked 
Lorelie,  looking  in  wonder  at  her  husband. 

For  some  moments  Ivar  hesitated,  and  when  at  last  his 
answer  came,  Lorelie  intuitively  felt  that  he  was  not  stat 
ing  the  true  cause  of  his  disquietude. 

"  You  would  marry  that  fellow  to  Beatrice  ?"  he  said, 
moistening  his  dry  white  lips.  "  Why  he  is  the  son  of  a 
—  a — felon:  his  father  was  tried  for  murder  at  Nantes, 
and  found  guilty." 

"  Have  you  made  a  point  of  studying  the  bygone 
criminal  trials  of  France  ?  If  not,  how  have  you  learned 
this  ?  " 

216 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

"I  heard  the  story  from — from  my  father,"  replied 
Ivar  slowly,  as  if  reluctant  to  make  the  admission. 

At  this  Lorelie  gave  a  very  palpable  start.  A  curious 
light  came  into  her  eyes.  She  seemed  as  if  struck  by 
some  new  and  surprising  idea. 

"  And  how  came  he  to  learn  it  ?  " 

"  He  was  in  Brittany  at  the  time  of  the  trial,  and  could 
not  avoid  hearing  all  about  it.  The  crime  created,  as 
newspapers  say,  a  great  sensation.  For  weeks  the  people 
of  Nantes  talked  of  little  else." 

"  Your  father's  ten  years'  absence  from  Ravenhall  was 
spent  in  Brittany,  then  ?  " 

"  A  portion  of  the  time,"  replied  Ivar,  evidently  un 
easy  under  his  wife's  catechism. 

"  And  so  this  murder-trial,"  observed  Lorelie,  with  a 
thoughtful  air,  "  this  trial  which  took  place  so  far  back  as 
twenty-seven  years  ago  —  that  is  before  you  and  I  were 
born  —  has  formed  a  topic  of  conversation  between  your 
self  and  your  father.  What  necessity  led  him  to  talk  of 
the  matter  to  you  ?  " 

But  Ivar  waived  this  question  by  asking  one. 

"  What  has  brought  that  fellow  to  Ormsby  ?  "  he  said, 
nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of  Idris. 

"  He  is  trying  to  discover  his  father ;  for  he  believes, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  that  Eric  Marville  is  still  alive.  He 
has  traced  him  to  this  neighbourhood,"  she  added,  her 
eyes  attentive  to  every  variation  in  Ivar's  counten 
ance. 

"  And  here  he  may  end  his  quest,"  said  the  viscount, 
"  for  Eric  Marville  was  shipwrecked  off  this  coast  and 
drowned  many  years  ago.  At  least,  that  is  my  father's 
statement,"  he  added  in  some  confusion,  and  looking  like 
a  man  who  has  been  unwittingly  betrayed  into  a  rash 
statement. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  the  vessel  in  which  Eric  Mar- 
217 


The  Viking's  Skull 

ville  went  down  ?  "  asked  Lorelie,  speaking  as  if  she  had 
never  before  heard  of  it. 

"  The  —  The  Idris,"  returned  the  viscount,  giving  the 
name  with  obvious  reluctance. 

There  was  on  Lorelie's  face  a  smile  that  somehow 
made  Ivar  feel  as  if  he  had  walked  into  a  net  prepared 
for  him. 

"  And  how  long  ago  is  it  since  this  vessel  was 
wrecked  ?  " 

"  Twenty-two  years  ago." 

"  Twenty-two  years  ago,"  murmured  Lorelie,  with  the 
air  of  one  making  a  mental  calculation,  "  will  take  us 
back  to  1876." 

"  October  the  thirteenth,  1 876,  if  you  wish  for  the  ex 
act  date." 

"  And  was  it  not  on  this  same  night  of  October  the 
thirteenth,  1876,  that  your  father  the  earl  walked  into 
Ravenhall  after  a  mysterious  absence  of  ten  years?" 

"  What  of  that  ?  " 

"  O  nothing !  Mere  coincidence,  of  course.  And 
so,"  continued  Lorelie,  with  a  retrospective  air,  "  and  so 
the  foundering  of  the  yacht  Idris  is  another  of  the  little 
matters  about  which  your  father  has  conversed  with  you. 
Strange  that  a  peer  of  the  realm  should  take  such  inter 
est  in  the  fate  of  an  escaped  felon !  "  She  paused,  as  if 
expecting  Ivar  to  make  some  reply,  but  he  did  not  speak. 
"  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  I  will  make  the  confession  that 
I,  too,  take  an  interest  —  a  strong  interest  —  in  this  Eric 
Marville ;  nay,  I  will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  to  discover 
what  ultimately  became  of  him  is  one  of  the  objects 
that  has  led  me  to  Ormsby.  And  in  pursuance  of  this 
object  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  obtain  from  its 
present  editor  a  copy  of  The  Ormsby  Weekly  Times,  dated 
October  2Oth,  1876,  in  which  paper  there  is  given  an  ac 
count  both  of  the  foundering  of  the  yacht  and  also  of 

218 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

the  inquest  upon  the  bodies  that  were  washed  ashore. 
Now,  as  the  coroner  was  unable  to  ascertain  either  the 
name  of  the  vessel,  or  the  names  of  any  of  the  men 
aboard,  is  it  not  a  little  curious  that  the  earl  should  know 
that  the  yacht  was  called  Idris,  and  that  it  carried  on 
board  one  Eric  Marville?  How  comes  your  father  to 
know  more  than  could  be  elicited  in  the  coroner's 
court  ?  " 

"  Egad,  you'd  better  ask  him,"  returned  Ivar  sullenly. 

"  Well,  I  must  controvert  your  father  on  one  point. 
Eric  Marville  was  not  drowned.  I  have  proof  that  he 
was  on  shore  at  the  time  the  yacht  sank." 

The  viscount  was  obviously  startled  by  this  statement. 

"  Oh  !  then  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  I  am  trying  to  find  out  ?  " 

"  You've  got  a  difficult  task  before  you.  No  one  has 
heard  of  him  since  the  night  of  the  wreck." 

"  No  one  has  heard  of  him  by  the  name  Marville,  of 
course.  He  would  not  be  likely  to  adhere  to  a  name 
that  would  suggest  reminiscences  of  the  felon  from  Vala- 
genet.  He  perhaps  resumed  his  old  family  name." 

"  His  old  family  name,"  repeated  Ivar.  "  What  is 
your  reason  for  supposing  that  Marville  was  not  his  true 
name  ?" 

"  Because  it  does  not  appear  among  the  list  of  names 
in  the  peerage." 

"  The  peerage  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  Marville  claimed  to  be  a  peer 
of  the  realm  ?  " 

The  viscount  smiled,  but  it  was  obvious  that  he  was  ill 
at  ease. 

"  Felon  in  Brittany ;  peer  in  Britain.  A  likely  story 
that !  Odd  that  the  detectives  and  journalists  did  not 
discover  the  fact  at  the  time  of  his  trial." 

"  It  is  odd,  as  you  say,  Ivar.  He  certainly  kept  his 
219 


The  Viking's  Skull 

secret  well.  I  do  not  think  he  revealed  it  even  to  his 
wife." 

"  Which  proves  his  lack  of  a  coronet.  It  is  not  likely 
that  he  would  conceal  from  his  wife  the  fact  that  he  was 
heir  to  a  peerage." 

"  He  doubtless  had  his  reasons.  Having  perhaps  quar 
relled  with  his  family  he  may  have  left  England  forever, 
determined  to  begin  life  anew  in  another  land,  and  to 
hide  his  identity  under  an  assumed  name.  An  imperial 
archduke  of  Austria  has  done  the  like  in  our  time,  and  so 
successfully,  too,  as  to  baffle  all  endeavours  to  trace  him." 

"  And,  pray,  to  what  peerage  did  this  Marville  lay 
claim  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Dormant,  or  in  esse  f  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  What  was  its  rank  ?     A  baronage :  a  viscountship : 


"  I  do  not  know." 

Ivar  seemed  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  with  Lorelie's 
want  of  knowledge. 

"  Where,  when,  and  under  what  circumstances,  then, 
did  Eric  Marville  claim  to  be  a  peer?" 

"  So  far  as  I  am  aware  he  referred  to  it  but  once,  and 
then  to  no  more  than  one  person,  a  French  military 
officer,  now  dead.  '  I  am  heir  to  a  peerage  and  could 
take  my  rank  to-morrow,  if  I  chose,'  were  his  words." 

"  And  that's  all  the  evidence  you  have  ?  " 

"  All  the  evidence  I  have,  Ivar." 

"  Marville  was  boasting,  beyond  a  doubt.  Does  that 
fellow,"  he  continued,  glancing  at  Idris'  distant  figure, 
"  know  of  his  father's  claim  to  a  peerage  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  the  least  inkling  of  it." 

"  You'll  act  wisely  by  keeping  the  notion  out  of  his 
pate." 

220 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  It's  one  thing  to  claim  a  peerage,  but  quite  another 
thing  to  prove  one's  claim.  Why  fill  the  fellow  with 
false  hopes  ?  Be  guided  by  me,  and  refrain  from  telling 
him  of  his  father's  pretensions." 

"  Very  well,  Ivar,"  responded  Lorelie,  quietly,  "  I  will 
be  guided  by  you.  As  your  wife  it  is  my  duty  to  do 
nothing  to  the  detriment  of  your  future  interests." 

For  a  moment  the  two  stared  curiously  at  each  other. 

"  My  interests  ?  "  muttered  the  viscount.  "  I  don't  un 
derstand  you." 

"  I  think  you  do,"  she  said  gravely.  "  But,"  she  added, 
rising  to  her  feet,  "  I  am  neglecting  my  visitors,"  and  so 
saying  she  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  Idris  and  Bea 
trice,  who  were  slowly  pacing  to  and  fro  on  one  side  of 
the  lawn. 

"  Not  even  the  coronet  to  console  me  now  ! "  she  mur 
mured  darkly.  "  A  fitting  punishment  this  for  my  long 
and  guilty  silence !  Justice,  justice,  now  thy  scourge  is 
coming  upon  me!" 

Ivar  did  not  follow  his  wife,  but  sat  motionless  for  some 
moments,  staring  after  her  in  blank  dismay,  and  com 
pletely  confounded  by  the  startling  hints  that  she  had 
let  fall. 

"  Idris  Marville  not  dead,"  he  muttered,  removing  with 
his  handkerchief  the  cold  moisture  that  glistened  on  his 
forehead.  "  That  fellow  he  !  Living  here  at  Ormsby  — 
in  the  same  house  with  Beatrice  !  And  Lorelie  suspects  ! 
Suspects  ?  She  knows.  By  God !  supposing  she  tells 
him!  But,  bah!  she  will  not  —  she  dare  not  —  declare 
it ;  she  stands  to  lose  too  much."  He  recalled  her  words 
to  the  effect  that  she  would  do  nothing  detrimental  to  his 
interests.  The  meaning  of  this  assurance  was  obvious, 
and  Ivar  breathed  more  freely.  "  She'll  keep  the  secret 
for  her  own  sake.  She'll  not  be  so  mad  as  to  cut  her  own 

221 


The  Viking's  Skull 

throat.  In  marrying  her  I've  stopped  her  mouth.  But 
if  she  had  known  as  much  a  year  ago  as  she  knows  to 
day !" 

The  smile  had  returned  to  Lorelie's  lips  by  the  time 
she  reached  Idris  and  Beatrice,  and  at  her  invitation  they 
repaired  to  the  drawing-room.  Lord  Walden,  with  a 
black  feeling  of  hatred  in  his  heart  against  both  his  wife 
and  Idris,  slowly  followed  without  speaking,  and  flung 
himself  on  a  distant  ottoman  as  if  desiring  no  compan 
ionship  but  his  own. 

Idris,  thus  ignored  by  the  viscount,  could  but  ignore 
him  in  turn.  He  had  never  beheld  a  more  sullen  and  a 
more  ungracious  clown  than  Lorelie's  husband,  and  he 
much  regretted  that  he  had  not  followed  his  first  impulse 
to  depart. 

The  drawing-room  was  a  handsome  apartment,  con 
taining  many  evidences  of  taste  and  wealth.  Lorelie 
took  a  pride  in  pointing  out  her  treasures. 

"  My  father,"  she  remarked,  observing  Beatrice's  eyes 
set  upon  a  portrait  in  oils  representing  a  handsome  man 
in  the  uniform  of  a  French  military  officer. 

Idris  viewed  with  interest  the  likeness  of  the  man  who 
for  about  the  space  of  a  minute  had  flashed  across  his 
childhood's  days. 

"  A  man  who  will  ever  command  my  respect,"  he  mur 
mured,  "  since  in  rescuing  my  father  from  prison  he  was 
forced  by  that  act  to  become  an  exile  from  his  native 
land." 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Lorelie's  face. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
saying." 

"  Forgive  me.  I  promised  never  to  allude  to  that 
event,  and  I  am  breaking  my  word.  I  apologize." 

And  he  wondered,  as  he  had  often  wondered,  why  ref 
erence  to  this  matter  should  trouble  her.  She  had  no 

222 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

cause  to  be  ashamed  of  her  father's  deed.  Captain  Roche- 
fort's  act  in  favour  of  a  friend  whom  he  believed  to  be 
innocent  was,  from  Idris'  point  of  view,  a  gallant  and 
romantic  enterprise,  and  in  the  judgment  of  most  per 
sons  would  deserve  condonation,  if  not  approval. 

After  the  portrait  of  Captain  Rochefort,  what  most 
interested  Beatrice  was  an  antique  vase  standing  upon  the 
carved  mantel.  It  was  of  gold,  set  with  precious  stones, 
and  the  interior  was  concealed  from  view  by  a  tight- 
fitting  lid. 

"  What  a  pretty  vase ! "  she  said,  and  with  Lorelie's 
sanction  she  lifted  it  from  the  mantel.  As  she  did  so  a 
cold  tremor  passed  over  her.  She  placed  the  urn  upon 
the  table,  and  in  a  moment  the  feeling  was  gone. 
She  took  up  the  vase  again,  and  the  unpleasant  sensa 
tion  returned.  Was  this  due  to  something  exhaled  from 
the  interior  of  the  urn  ?  She  drew  a  deep  breath  through 
her  nostrils,  but  failed  to  detect  any  odour. 

Puzzled  and  annoyed,  Beatrice  became  morbidly  curi 
ous  to  learn  its  contents. 

"  The  lid  fits  very  tightly,"  she  said,  addressing  Lorelie. 
"  How  do  you  remove  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  secured  by  a  hidden  spring,"  replied  the  vis 
countess.  "  If  you  can  discover  the  secret,  you  will  be 
doing  me  a  favour,  for  I  have  never  been  able  to  open  it 
myself." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  what  treasure  it  may  contain," 
smiled  Beatrice.  "  Attar  of  roses,  spices  from  Arabia, 
pearls  from  the  Orient,  may  lurk  within."  She  shook 
the  urn,  and  a  faint  sound  accompanied  the  movement. 
"  Listen  !  there  is  certainly  something  inside." 

"  I  am  full  of  curiosity  myself  to  know  what  it  is,"  said 
Lorelie,  "  I  have  spent  hours  in  trying  to  discover  the 
spring." 

"  Then  it  is  useless  for  me  to  try." 
223 


The  Viking's  Skull 

But  though  Beatrice  spoke  thus,  she  nevertheless  made 
the  attempt,  toying  with  the  vase  and  pressing  various 
figures  sculptured  upon  the  sides.  All  to  no  purpose. 
The  jewels  sparkled  like  wicked  eyes,  seeming  to  mock 
her  endeavours.  The  sound  caused  by  the  shaking  of 
the  urn  was  like  the  collision  of  paper  pellets,  shavings  of 
wood,  or  of  some  other  substance  equally  light.  And 
all  the  time  while  handling  the  vase  Beatrice  was  con 
scious  of  a  strange  feeling  of  repulsion.  What  caused  it 
she  could  not  tell :  the  fact  was  certain :  the  reason 
inexplicable. 

"  Is  this  vase  an  heirloom  ? "  she  asked,  desirous  of 
learning  whence  Lorelie  had  obtained  it,  and  yet  not 
liking  to  appear  too  curious. 

The  viscountess  hesitated  a  moment,  evidently  adverse 
to  replying,  and  then  stooped  over  Beatrice  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Will  you  think  me  discourteous,  Beatrice,  if — if  I  do 
not  tell  you  how  I  came  by  it  ?  " 

While  speaking  she  glanced  aside  at  Ivar  who,  from 
his  position  on  the  couch,  was  watching  the  scene  with 
so  perturbed  an  air  that  Idris  was  led  to  believe  there 
was  some  strange  secret  connected  with  this  vase  —  a 
secret  known  to  both  husband  and  wife.  Great  as  was 
his  love  for  Lorelie,  Idris  was  compelled  to  admit  that 
she  was  very  mysterious  in  some  of  her  ways. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened. 

Idris,  keenly  attentive  to  all  that  was  passing,  observed 
a  curious  expression  stealing  over  Beatrice's  face.  Once 
before  he  had  seen  this  expression,  namely,  at  the  time 
when  she  gave  her  opinion  on  the  piece  of  steel  taken 
from  the  Viking's  skull.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes  were 
contracted,  and  set  with  a  bright  fixity  of  gaze  upon  the 
jewelled  urn.  The  rigidity  of  her  figure  indicated  a 
cataleptic  state. 

224 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

Her  lips  parted,  and  in  a  voice  strangely  unlike  her 
own,  she  said:  — 

"  The  ashes  of  the  dead  !  " 

At  this  Lorelie  gave  a  faint  cry  and  drew  away  the 
vase,  glancing  again  at  Ivar.  Then,  with  her  hands  she 
closed  the  eyes  of  Beatrice,  and  shook  her  gently.  Bea 
trice  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  looked  around  with  the 
surprised  air  of  one  aroused  suddenly  from  sleep. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  been  saying  ?  "  Lorelie 
asked. 

«•  No  —  what?" 

"  That  this  is  a  funereal  urn." 

"  Have  I  been  self-hypnotized  again  ?  " 

"  Again  ? "  repeated  Lorelie.  "  Do  you  often  fall  into 
this  state  ?  " 

"  Occasionally  —  when  gazing  too  long  at  some  bright 
object :  and  then  the  object  seems  to  whisper  its  history 
to  me,  or  rather,  as  Godfrey  more  sensibly  remarks,  my 
mind  begins  to  weave  all  kinds  of  fancies  around  it." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  a  clairvoyante,"  said  Lorelie, 
studying  the  other  intently.  "  '  The  ashes  of  the  dead  ? ' 
Yes,  this  may  be  a  crematory  vase.  What  do  you  say, 
Ivar  ?  "  she  added,  turning  to  the  viscount. 

"  Of  course  Beatrice  knows,"  was  his  reply,  "  for  is  she 
not  a  daughter  of  the  gods,  a  descendant  of  a  Norse 
prophetess  ?  But,  Beatrice,  I  think  that  the  blood  of 
Hilda  the  Alruna  must  have  become  so  diluted  during 
the  course  of  ten  centuries  that  your  claim  to  the  hered 
itary  gift  of  intuition  is  a  little  laughable." 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  having  made  any  such  claim," 
replied  Beatrice,  quietly. 

"  And  such  claim,  if  made,  would  be  justified,"  re 
torted  Idris,  roused  by  Lord  Walden's  sneering  air,  "  for 
Miss  Ravengar  has  given  me  previous  proof  of  possessing 
remarkable  intuitive  powers." 
'5  225 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Let  us  say  no  more  on  the  matter,"  said  Lorelie, 
gently. 

She  restored  the  urn  to  its  place  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and,  desirous  of  removing  the  somewhat  unpleasant  im 
pression  created  by  the  incident,  immediately  started  a 
conversation  on  other  topics. 

The  talk  turned  presently  upon  literature,  and  Idris, 
remembering  that  Lorelie  was  an  author,  said :  — 

"  Lady  Walden,  will  you  not  give  us  a  reading  from 
your  play  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,  do  !  "  cried  Beatrice,  impulsively. 

Lorelie  hesitated.  The  drama  written  by  her  had  been 
a  work  of  time  and  patience :  it  was  as  near  perfection  as 
she  would  ever  be  able  to  bring  it :  she  had  poured  her  nob 
lest  feelings  into  the  work.  But  she  knew  that  what 
seems  good  to  the  author  often  seems  bad  to  the  critic : 
that  the  thoughts,  supposed  to  be  original,  prove  to  be 
merely  echoes  of  what  others  have  said  before  in  far  bet 
ter  language:  that  the  line  that  separates  eloquence  from 
bombast  is  easily  passable  on  the  wrong  side. 

These  were  the  motives  disposing  Lorelie  to  keep  her 
tragedy  to  herself.  The  person  who  should  have  been 
the  first  to  give  encouragement  on  this  occasion  was 
mute ;  for  Ivar  maintained  an  air  of  indifference. 

"  Deserves  kicking,"  was  Idris'  secret  comment,  as  he 
became  conscious  of  a  suggestion  of  humiliation  in  Lore- 
lie's  manner,  due  to  her  husband's  want  of  appreciation. 
"  And,"  he  added  to  himself,  "  I  should  very  much  like  to 
do  the  kicking." 

Moved  at  last  by  the  solicitations  of  her  two  visitors 
Lorelie  produced  the  manuscript  of  her  play  and  pre 
pared  to  read  some  portions  of  it. 

"  This  drama  of  mine, '  The  Fatal  Skull,'  "  she  began, 
"  derives  its  name  from  the  central  incident  in  it  —  an  in 
cident  of  early  Italian  history.  Alboin,  King  of  the  Lom- 

226 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

bards,  had  become  enamoured  of  Rosamond,  the  beauti 
ful  daughter  of  Cunimund,  King  of  the  Gepids.  Both 
father  and  daughter,  however,  rejected  the  suit,  for  Lom 
bards  and  Gepids  had  long  been  at  feud.  Embassies  hav 
ing  failed,  Alboin  resolved  to  attain  his  object  by  force, 
and,  accordingly,  entered  the  territories  of  Cunimund 
with  an  army.  In  the  battle  that  followed,  the  Gepid 
king  was  slain,  his  forces  put  to  the  rout,  and  his  daughter 
Rosamond  became  the  prize  and  the  reluctant  bride  of  the 
conqueror  Alboin." 

"  How  dreadful,"  murmured  Beatrice, "  to  be  compelled 
to  marry  the  man  who  had  slain  her  father ! " 

"  The  sequel  is  more  dreadful,"  returned  Lorelie. 
"  The  death  of  Cunimund  was  not  sufficient  to  satiate  the 
hatred  of  Alboin  ;  the  skull  of  the  fallen  king,  fashioned 
into  a  drinking  cup,  became  the  most  treasured  ornament 
of  his  sideboard. 

"  Feasting  one  day  with  his  companions-in-arms,  Al 
boin  called  for  the  skull  of  Cunimund.  '  The  cup  of  vic 
tory  '  —  to  quote  the  words  of  Gibbon  — '  was  accepted 
with  horrid  applause  by  the  circle  of  the  Lombard  chiefs. 
"  Fill  it  again  with  wine,"  exclaimed  the  inhuman  con 
queror,  "  fill  it  to  the  brim ;  carry  this  goblet  to  the  queen, 
and  request  in  my  name  that  she  would  rejoice  with  her 
father."  In  an  agony  of  grief  and  rage,  Rosamond  had 
strength  to  utter,  "  Let  the  will  of  my  lord  be  obeyed," 
and,  touching  it  with  her  lips,  pronounced  a  silent  impre 
cation  that  the  insult  should  be  washed  away  in  the  blood 
of  Alboin.'" 

"  And  did  she  kill  her  husband  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Yes,  with  the  help  of  his  armour-bearer  Helmichis." 

Having  thus  set  forth  the  argument,  Lorelie,  unfolding 
her  manuscript,  began  to  read  certain  scenes  from  her 
play.  The  reading  of  them  was  a  revelation  both  to  Idris 
and  Beatrice :  there  was  a  masculine  vigour  in  the  lines  : 

227 


The  Viking's  Skull 

the  thoughts  were  as  noble  as  they  were  original,  and 
graced  by  many  poetic  images  and  by  passages  of  ex 
quisite  beauty. 

Charmed  by  the  melody  of  Lorelie's  voice,  charmed 
still  more  by  the  lovely  face  set  in  a  frame  of  dark  hair, 
Idris  sat  entranced,  with  something  more  than  admiration 
in  his  eyes.  And  as  Beatrice  observed  his  rapt  attitude, 
his  accelerated  breathing,  she  trembled  uneasily ;  not  for 
herself,  but  for  Lorelie.  In  the  near  future,  when  the 
young  viscountess  should  have  come  to  learn  the 
worthlessness  of  her  husband,  and  to  experience  the 
misery  of  existence  with  him,  would  she  have  sufficient 
strength  and  purity  of  soul  to  resist  the  temptation  of  fly 
ing  to  the  arms  of  Idris  ?  Their  meeting  with  each  other 
was  a  foolish  playing  with  fire,  and  could  have  but  one 
ending.  Beatrice  ceased  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  the 
play,  and  grew  miserable  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"  Lady  Walden,"  said  Idris,  when  she  had  finished  her 
recital,  "  your  drama  is  a  work  of  real  genius." 

His  praise  was  sweeter  to  Lorelie  than  the  praise  of  a 
thousand  other  critics,  and  her  cheek  flushed  with  tri 
umph. 

"  You  certainly  ought  to  have  it  put  upon  the  stage," 
he  continued. 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Ivar :  for  even  his  sullen  nature  had 
been  moved  to  admiration :  "  you  must  not  hide  your 
light  under  a  bushel.  If  one  is  a  genius,  let  the  world 
know  it." 

"  If  this  play  should  ever  be  acted,"  said  Lorelie,  "  then 
let  me  take  the  chief  part  in  it.  Who  more  fit  to  play  the 
role  of  Rosamond  than  the  creator  of  Rosamond  ?  " 

"  Well,  whenever  you  desire  to  begin  rehearsals,"  said 
Idris,  jocularly,  "  Miss  Ravengar  can  supply  you  with 
one  item  of  stage  property  in  the  shape  of  a  real 
skull." 

228 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

"  But  you  would  not  drink  from  a  real  skull  ?  "  said 
Beatrice. 

"  It  would  add  to  the  effect,"  smiled  Lorelie. 

"  Drink  from  a  real  skull  ?  Ah,  how  horrid ! "  ex 
claimed  Beatrice. 

In  reciting  the  words  of  the  wronged  and  indignant 
Queen,  Lorelie  had  caught  the  genuine  spirit  of  the  char 
acter  :  and  now,  inspired  by  the  idea  of  becoming  its  ex 
ponent  upon  the  stage,  she  rose  to  her  feet,  her  eyes 
sparkling  as  with  the  light  of  future  triumph. 

As  she  stood  upon  the  hearth  in  statuesque  pose,  she 
seemed  to  be  the  very  queen  of  tragedy,  to  be  breathing, 
as  it  were,  the  air  of  vengeance  ;  a  spirit  so  contrary  to 
her  usual  sweet  self  that  Idris  did  not  like  to  witness  its 
assumption,  however  suitable  it  may  have  been  to  the 
character  of  the  fierce  Rosamond. 

"  I  can  see  the  eyes  of  the  theatre  riveted  upon  me," 
she  murmured,  picturing  to  herself  the  future  representa 
tion  of  her  drama,  "  as  I  enter  the  banqueting-hall  of  the 
Lombard  chiefs,  and  advance  to  drink  from  the  fatal  cup  ! 
How  the  audience  will  thrill  as  they  watch  !  How  awful 
the  silence  as  Rosamond  places  her  lips  to  her  father's 
skull ! " 

She  illustrated  her  words  by  taking  the  antique  vase 
from  the  mantel  and  going  through  the  action  of  drink 
ing  from  it,  shuddering  as  she  did  so ;  though  whether 
her  shudder  was  mere  simulation,  or  a  real  thing  occa 
sioned  by  the  supposed  nature  of  its  contents  was  more 
than  Idris  could  tell. 

"  And  when  the  hour  for  vengeance  came,  I  would 
rise  to  the  height  of  the  occasion,  and  strike  down 
Alboin  —  so!" 

Drawing  from  her  hair  a  long  and  gleaming  hairpin 
shaped  like  a  stiletto,  she  went  through  the  motion  of 
stabbing  an  imaginary  figure. 

229 


The  Viking's  Skull 

" '  Die  ! '  "  she  exclaimed,  in  an  exultant  tone,  and 
quoting  the  words  of  her  play.  " '  This  Rosamond 
sends.1 " 

There  was  a  weird  roll  of  her  glittering  eyes  as  she 
flung  out  her  left  hand  tightly  clenched :  a  swiftness  and 
ferocity  in  the  downward  stroke  of  the  stiletto  in  her 
right,  so  suggestive  of  real  murder  that  Idris  glanced  at  her 
feet,  almost  expecting  to  see  a  human  figure  lying  there. 

Beatrice  gave  a  cry  of  genuine  terror.  Ivar  looked  on 
with  evident  admiration. 

For  a  few  seconds  Lorelie  maintained  a  rigid  bending 
pose,  her  eyes  dilated  with  terror,  staring  at  the  hearth 
as  if  she  beheld  something  there.  Then,  with  a  motion 
startling  in  its  suddenness,  she  recovered  her  erect  atti 
tude,  and  reeled  backward  with  her  lifted  hand  clenched 
upon  her  brow.  The  stiletto  dropped  from  her  limp 
fingers,  and  the  peculiar  ringing  sound  produced  by  its 
contact  with  the  tiled  hearth  was  fresh  in  Idris'  ears  for 
many  days  afterwards. 

"  '  A-a-ah  ! '  "  she  cried  in  a  long-drawn  thrilling  sibi 
lant  whisper,  which,  nevertheless,  penetrated  to  every 
corner  of  the  apartment,  and  again  quoting  from  her 
play.  " '  Ah  !  He  moves  !  His  eyes  open  !  That  look 
of  reproach !  I  dare  not,'  "  she  went  on,  gasping  for 
breath,  "  <  I  dare  not  strike  again  !  Helmichis,  do  thou 
strike  for  me.' " 

With  averted  face  she  staggered  back  and  dropped 
upon  a  couch,  apparently  exhausted  by  real  or  simulated 
emotion. 

"  Bravo !  bravo ! "  cried  Ivar,  clapping  his  hands. 
"  The  divine  Sarah  couldn't  do  it  better.  By  heaven ! 
we  ought  to  have  this  play  staged,  with  you  in  the  role 
of  Rosamond.  You'd  be  the  talk  of  London." 

As  for  Idris,  the  diablerie  of  Lorelie's  manner  had 
given  him  a  sensation  very  much  akin  to  horror. 

230 


At  Lorelie's  Villa 

"  What  have  I  been  witnessing?  "  he  murmured.  "  A 
piece  of  acting  merely,  or  a  reminiscence  of  a  real 
tragedy?" 

Beatrice,  deadly  white,  and  with  her  eyes  closed,  lay 
back  upon  an  ottoman  silent  and  motionless. 

"  What  do  you  say  ? "  said  Lorelie,  coming  quickly 
forward  in  response  to  a  remark  from  Idris. 

"  I  think  Miss  Ravengar  has  fainted,"  he  repeated. 

"  Egad !  Lorelie,"  said  Ivar,  amused.  "  There's  a 
tribute  to  your  acting,  if  you  like." 

Lady  Walden  instantly  busied  herself  in  applying 
restoratives  to  the  swooning  Beatrice. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  frightened  you,"  she  said  in  gentle 
tones  to  Beatrice  when  the  latter  had  recovered.  "  It 
was  very  absurd  of  me  to  act  so." 

But  Lorelie's  tenderness  met  with  no  response  from 
Beatrice,  whose  eyes  were  full  of  a  wild  haunting  horror. 
She  shrank  from  Lorelie's  touch ;  she  avoided  her  glance ; 
her  whole  manner  showed  that  she  was  anxious  for  noth 
ing  so  much  as  to  get  away  from  her  presence. 

"I  —  I  think  I'll  go  home  now,"  she  said,  glancing  at 
Idris.  "  Godfrey  will  be  waiting  for  us.  We  promised 
to  return  early." 

"  The  walk  through  the  fresh  air  will  do  you  good," 
remarked  Idris,  who  was  himself  desirous  of  withdrawing. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Lorelie  pressed  her  visitors  to  stay. 
Beatrice  declared  that  she  must  go,  and  within  the  space 
of  a  few  minutes  she  had  taken  a  very  abrupt  leave  of 
her  hostess. 

That  night  Idris'  sleep  was  broken  by  troubled  dreams, 
in  all  of  which  a  woman's  image  mingled,  always  in  the 
act  of  striking  down  some  shadowy  foe ;  but  the  venue 
was  changed  from  the  elegant  apartment  at  The  Cedars 
to  the  grey  stone  interior  of  Ormfell ! 

231 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TOLD   BY   THE   VASE 

NEXT  morning  Idris  strove  to  put  aside  the  fear 
that  had  found  expression  in  his  dreams,  but  the 
dark  idea  would  persist  in  forcing  itself  upon 
him.  He  grew  angry  with  himself.  Heavens !  was  he 
not  master  of  his  own  mind  that  he  could  not  throw  off 
this  suspicion  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved  ?  Strange 
and  mysterious  Lorelie  might  be,  but  that  she  was  a  taker 
of  human  life  he  found  it  impossible  to  believe. 

Doubtless  it  was  true  that  a  murder  had  taken  place 
within  Ormfell,  but  that  the  crime  had  been  wrought  by 
a  stiletto  hairpin  was  merely  a  conjecture  on  the  part  of 
Beatrice,  who  had  no  valid  reason  to  offer  in  support  of 
her  theory :  yet,  imbued  with  this  fancy  she  was  persist 
ent  in  maintaining  that  a  woman  must  have  been  the 
author  of  the  deed. 

Assuming  it,  however,  to  be  a  fact  that  the  piece  of 
steel  was  a  fragment  of  a  hairpin,  and  the  person  who 
used  it  as  an  instrument  of  death  a  woman,  it  did  not  fol 
low  because  Lorelie  had  drawn  a  stiletto  pin  from  her 
hair  in  order  to  illustrate  an  assassination-scene  in  her 
play,  that  he  must  identify  her  with  the  guilty  woman. 

There  was  not  only  no  evidence  to  connect  Lorelie 
with  the  crime,  but  much  to  prove  the  contrary.  For 
instance,  it  requires  a  very  long  period  of  time  before  a 
human  body  will  become  reduced  to  the  state  of  a 
skeleton  such  as  that  which  Idris  and  Godfrey  had  found 
in  the  interior  of  the  ancient  tumulus. 

But  Lorelie's  coming  to  Ormsby  had  taken  place  less 
232 


Told  by  the  Vase 


than  five  months  ago.  Therefore,  unless  the  remains  had 
been  brought  from  elsewhere,  she  could  have  had  no 
hand  in  the  crime. 

But  had  the  remains  been  brought  from  elsewhere  ? 
and  was  Godfrey  wrong  in  limiting  the  scene  of  the 
murder  to  the  interior  of  Ormfell  ?  With  a  sudden  thrill 
of  surprise  and  fear  Idris  recalled  the  reliquary  brought 
to  Ravenhall  by  Ivar  on  the  night  of  his  return  from  the 
continent.  The  story  of  the  viscount's  midnight  visit  to 
the  vault  had  been  told  him  in  confidence  by  Godfrey, 
and  Idris  therefore  knew  that  this  mysterious  visit  had 
some  connection  with  Lorelie's  affairs.  The  meaning  of 
it  all  had  completely  puzzled  the  two  friends ;  but  now, 
while  pondering  over  Ivar's  action,  Idris  felt  a  return  of 
all  his  misgivings. 

Oblivious  of  the  flight  of  time  he  remained  on  his 
pillow  occupied  in  gloomy  thought,  and  when  at  last  he 
did  get  up  and  go  down-stairs,  he  found  that  he  must 
breakfast  alone,  for  Beatrice  was  absent,  having  left  a 
message  with  the  maid  to  the  effect  that  she  had  gone  to 
The  Cedars. 

The  Cedars  of  all  places  !  How  came  it  that  Beatrice, 
after  having  evinced  such  fear  of  Lorelie  on  the  previous 
evening,  should  repair  thither  the  next  morning  ?  Was 
it  to  tell  Lorelie  of  her  suspicions  ?  to  wrarn  her  that  the 
crime  was  known  ?  to  put  her  on  her  guard  ? 

Some  such  motive  must  have  actuated  her :  so  Idris, 
thinking  that  he  could  not  do  better  than  imitate  her 
example,  set  off  himself  in  the  direction  of  The  Cedars. 

On  his  arrival  he  learned  from  the  maid  who  opened 
the  door  that  Beatrice  was  in  the  drawing-room  with 
Lorelie. 

"  Let  me  see  them,  please." 

Without  ascertaining  whether  his  presence  would  be 
acceptable  to  her  mistress,  the  girl  ushered  him  into 

233 


The  Viking's  Skull 

the  drawing-room  with  the  words,  "  Mr.  Breakspear, 
ma'amzelle,"  and  there  left  him. 

Idris  looked  around.  No  one  was  visible,  but  from 
the  other  side  of  the  curtains  that  draped  one  end  of  the 
room  came  the  sound  of  voices.  The  maid  in  introduc 
ing  him  had  pronounced  his  name  so  softly  that  ap 
parently  those  behind  the  portiere  were  unaware  of  his 
presence. 

The  two  curtains  forming  the  portiere  not  being  closely 
drawn  left  an  opening,  through  which  Idris,  as  he  went 
forward,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  small  boudoir.  Both 
Lorelie  and  Beatrice  were  there. 

On  the  point  of  addressing  them,  he  was  suddenly 
stopped  in  his  purpose  by  something  odd  in  the  appear 
ance  and  attitude  of  each. 

Beatrice  occupied  a  position  at  a  low  table,  upon 
which  stood  the  vase  that  had  attracted  her  curiosity  on 
the  previous  day,  the  vase  containing  "  the  ashes  of  the 
dead." 

She  sat  erect  and  silent,  her  hands  resting  on  her  lap, 
her  face  as  rigid  as  if  sculptured  from  marble:  her 
attitude  gave  an  impression  that  if  pushed  she  would  fall 
over  like  a  dead  weight.  Her  eyes  were  set  upon  the 
glittering  vase  with  a  curious  far-off  expression  in  them, 
as  if  observant  of  some  scene  a  thousand  miles  away. 

Facing  her  a  few  paces  off,  with  her  eyes  concentrating 
all  their  brightness  and  force  upon  Beatrice's  face,  sat 
Lady  Walden.  It  was  clear  at  a  glance  that  she  held 
Beatrice's  mind  and  will  completely  under  her  own  con 
trol. 

"  As  I  live,"  murmured  Idris,  "  she  has  hypnotized 
Beatrice.  She  is  going  to  conduct  some  experiment 
with  the  vase." 

Having  an  honourable  man's  aversion  to  play  the  spy 
he  was  about  to  make  his  presence  known,  when,  sud- 

234 


Told  by  the  Vase 

denly,  checked  by  some  motive  for  which  he  could  not 
account,  he  determined  to  remain  an  unseen  watcher. 

Lorelie  rose  and  placed  Beatrice's  hands  upon  the 
vase,  where  they  rested,  passive  and  limp.  This  move 
ment  was  accompanied  by  a  shiver  on  the  part  of  the 
medium.  If  the  soul  be  capable  of  abstraction  from  the 
body,  Idris  might  have  believed  that  Beatrice's  soul  had 
left  her  at  that  moment  to  animate  the  vase,  for  the  urn 
seemed  to  become  instinct  with  motion,  and  to  sparkle 
with  a  new  light. 

"  Speak,  Beatrice,"  said  Lorelie  in  a  solemn  tone. 
"  Speak  from  the  depth  of  this  vase :  listen  to  the  voice 
of  its  quivering  atoms :  recall  from  it  the  scenes  and 
sounds  of  the  past. —  Tell  me,  what  do  you  feel  —  hear 
—  see?" 

A  hollow  voice  arose,  a  voice  that  sounded  like  a 
mockery  of  Beatrice's  tones :  and  although  her  lips 
moved,  the  words  seemed  to  emanate,  not  from  her,  but 
from  the  urn. 

"  It  is  dark  .  .  .  very  dark  .  .  .  nothing  can 
be  seen  .  .  .  No  sun  ...  no  stars  .  .  . 
no  light  .  .  .  All  is  cold  .  .  .  and  damp  .  .  . 
and  still  .  .  .  There  is  no  air  ...  or  wind 
.  .  .  no  life  ...  or  motion  ...  It  is  like 
the  grave  .  .  .  Above,  beneath,  on  all  sides,  the 
earth  presses  .  .  .  Always  the  earth  around  .  .  . 
nothing  but  earth  .  .  .  For  ages  and  ages,  deep 
down  in  the  ground." 

She  repeated  this  last  sentence  several  times. 

"  For  ages  and  ages,  deep  down  in  the  ground." 

"  What  next  ?  "  asked  Lorelie. 

"  A  sound  .  .  .  faint  .  .  .  far-off  .  .  . 
Now  it  comes  nearer  .  .  .  it  is  as  of  a  spade  dig 
ging  .  .  .  it  is  coming  down  .  .  .  down 
.  .  .  down  .  .  .  The  earth  above  loosens  .  .  . 

235 


The  Viking's  Skull 

disappears  .  .  .  The  blowing  of  fresh  air  ... 
the  gleam  of  daylight  .  .  .  Now  the  blue  sky  looks 
down  .  .  .  Lifted  up  by  strong  hands  to  the  glorious 
sunshine  above  ...  It  is  the  edge  of  a  pit  .  .  . 
Small  pieces  of  gold  mixed  with  earth  lie  about  .  .  . 
It  is  spring-time  .  .  .  The  air  is  full  of  the  sound 
of  falling  waters  .  .  .  There  are  green  hills  around, 
dark  here  and  there  with  pines  and  firs  ...  Above 
them  snow  shining  in  the  sun  .  .  .  There  are  men 
about  .  .  .  digging  .  .  .  men  with  deep  blue 
eyes  and  flaxen  hair  .  .  .  They  wear  close-fitting 
tunics  .  .  .  Their  legs  are  bare,  crossed  by  thongs 
of  leather,  .  .  .  They  talk  a  strange  language 
.  .  .  Now  they  stop  digging  .  .  .  laugh  .  .  . 
and  drink  mead  from  ox-horns." 

Idris  started,  beginning  to  detect  a  glimmer  of  meaning 
in  these  utterances,  hitherto  as  dark  as  a  Delphic  oracle. 

"  It  is  hot  .  .  .  very  hot  .  .  .  There  is  a 
fire  .  .  .  flames  playing  in  golden  and  ruddy  hues 
on  the  rafters  above  .  .  .  Many  pieces  of  metal  are 
stacked  upon  the  shelves  around  .  .  .  Shields, 
spears,  swords,  all  newly-wrought,  are  lying  about  .  .  . 
The  clangour  of  the  anvil  arises  .  .  .  The  red  sparks 
fly  around  .  .  .  Men  are  moving  to  and  fro,  all 
busy  .  .  .  One  is  pouring  molten  metal  into  a  clay 
mould  ...  It  is  liquid,  glowing  gold  .  .  .  He 
is  casting  a  vase  ...  a  funereal  urn  .  .  .  this  ! " 

Idris  had  heard  something  of  the  marvels  of  clairvoy 
ance,  but  clairvoyance  like  this  fairly  took  his  breath 
away.  It  was  clear  that  Beatrice  was  giving  the  whole 
history  of  the  vase,  from  the  time  when  the  metal  com 
posing  it  first  issued  from  the  earth  in  the  shape  of  ore  in 
the  old  Norse  fatherland  ! 

"  It  is  a  long,  low,  wooden  hall.  The  lady  is  beauti 
ful,  with  dark  eyes  and  raven  hair.  There  are  some 

236 


Told  by  the  Vase 

maidens  around.  They  are  at  needlework.  They  have 
one  long  piece  of  cloth  on  their  knees,  and  are  sewing 
different  coloured  threads  into  it.  The  lady  directs 
them.  Now  she  moves  towards  the  bed.  There  is  some 
one  lying  on  it,  hidden  by  a  bearskin.  At  the  head  is 
the  golden  vase.  The  lady  lifts  the  coverlet.  Beneath, 
there  reposes  a  dead  man,  with  yellow  hair  and  beard. 
He  lies  upon  his  shield,  his  spear  and  sword  beside  him. 
The  lady  falls  across  the  body  weeping." 

This  scene  was  clear  enough  to  Idris'  comprehension. 
The  dark-haired  lady  was  the  ancestress  of  Beatrice  her 
self,  Hilda  the  Alruna,  mourning  the  death  of  .her  hus 
band,  Orm  the  Viking  :  and  the  maidens  were  the  captive 
nuns  who  had  wrought  the  figured  tapestry  that  had 
decorated  the  interior  of  Ormfell. 

"  The  maidens  tremble  as  the  stern-faced  warriors 
enter  the  hall  to  carry  away  the  body  of  their  chief.  He 
is  borne  aloft  to  the  place'  of  sepulture  upon  his  brazen 
shield.  The  lady  follows,  clasping  the  urn  to  her 
bosom." 

Beatrice  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  began  another 
picture. 

"  The  green  hill-tomb  rises  high  in  sunny  air,  and 
close  by  murmurs  the  voice  of  the  restless  sea.  The 
dead  warrior  is  laid  upon  an  altar  of  wood.  Many  per 
sons  stand  around.  A  fair-haired  boy  touches  the  pile 
with  a  flaming  torch.  As  he  does  so,  a  shout  goes  up  to 
the  sky." 

Though  Beatrice's  utterances  were  not  marked  by  any 
rhythmic  measure,  she  nevertheless  began  to  intone  them 
to  an  air,  which  Idris  immediately  recognized  as  the 
Ravengar  Funeral  March,  the  requiem  that  had  made  so 
strange  an  impression  upon  him  when  played  by  Lorelie 
upon  the  organ  of  St.  Oswald's  Church. 

"  See  the  gleam  of  lifted  lance  and  shield  !  Hark  to 
237 


The  Viking's  Skull 

the  wailing  of  the  women,  as  they  beat  their  breasts  and 
rend  their  tresses  for  the  death  of  their  great  chief !  List 
to  the  warriors,  as  they  clash  their  brazen  bucklers  with 
clanging  sword-strokes  !  Now  rises  the  wild  barbaric 
song  of  the  long-haired  scald,  hymning  to  his  harp  the 
heroic  deeds  of  the  dead,  and  chanting  the  dirge  that 
shall  never  be  forgotten  by  the  Raven-race.  Upward 
mount  the  flames  of  the  pyre.  See  how  the  maddened 
raven,  tied  to  the  fagot  with  silken  thread,  flaps  his 
wings  and  screams  with  terror,  pecking  at  the  bond  that 
holds  him.  The  volumed  smoke  hides  him  from  view : 
the  fire  severs  the  thread  :  now  he  soars  heavenward, 
bearing  the  soul  of  the  warrior  to  Valhalla.  The  fire 
burns  long,  glowing  in  the  breath  of  the  breeze.  Now 
it  fades  :  glimmers  :  and  dies  out.  The  lady  draws  near 
with  the  urn  :  within  it  are  reverently  placed  the  ashes 
of  the  dead." 

Beatrice  ceased  her  intonation,  and  continued  in  a 
quieter  tone. 

"  It  is  a  square  place,  built  of  stone.  Men  are  moving 
about.  Some  carry  torches.  Others  are  decking  the 
walls  with  tapestry,  hanging  it  from  a  metal  rod.  There 
is  a  stone  receptacle  in  the  centre.  The  dark-haired 
lady  places  the  urn  within  this,  and  retires.  The  lights 
vanish.  All  is  silence  and  darkness  —  silence  and  dark 
ness." 

It  was  clear  that  Beatrice  had  been  describing  the  in 
cidents  attending  the  death  and  burial  of  Orm.  Her 
account  had  cleared  up  one  mystery.  The  contents  of 
the  urn  were  nothing  less  than  the  ashes  of  the  old 
Viking,  the  ancestral  dust  from  which  Beatrice  herself 
had  sprung  !  This  completely  answered  the  question  as 
to  what  had  become  of  his  remains,  and  furnished  addi 
tional  proof  that  the  skeleton  in  the  sarcophagus  was  not 
that  of  Orm. 

238 


Told  by  the  Vase 

But  here  a  disquieting  thought  presented  itself.  Who 
had  removed  this  urn  from  the  tomb  in  Ormfell,  and  in 
what  way  had  Lorelie  become  possessed  of  it  ?  He  dis 
missed  the  question  for  the  moment  in  order  to  listen  to 
Beatrice  who  was  speaking  again. 

"  Footsteps  round  about.  Light  shines  through  the 
interstices  of  the  tomb.  Some  one  is  speaking.  It  is 
the  dark-haired  lady.  There  is  a  man  with  her.  They 
take  off  the  lid  of  the  tomb  and  put  in  all  kinds  of  bright 
things  —  coins  and  rings  :  gold  and  silver  ingots  :  cups, 
lamps,  precious  stones,  and  the  like.  They  sparkle  in  the 
light.  The  tomb  is  full.  They  lay  the  rest  on  the  floor. 
Now  they  steal  away.  The  light  goes  with  them.  Silence 
and  darkness  again." 

Thus  far  Beatrice's  monologue  had  dealt  with  a  period 
of  history  distant  by  a  thousand  years,  and  had  told  Idris 
little  that  he  did  not  already  know.  Would  she  continue 
the  story  of  the  urn  through  the  succeeding  centuries  ? 
Would  she  reach  modern  times,  and  speak  of  those  who 
had  removed  the  treasure?  would  she  describe  the  murder 
that  had  taken  place,  and  tell  how  the  urn  came  to  be  in 
Lorelie's  possession  ? 

Spellbound  he  waited  for  the  sequel.  If  any  one 
had  told  him  that  the  Viking's  treasure  was  lying  upon 
the  roadway  outside  to  be  his  own  for  the  mere  trouble 
of  walking  thither,  he  would  not  have  stirred  from  his 
position. 

Beatrice  had  been  silent  for  some  time,  when  Lorelie, 
speaking  in  the  same  tone  of  authority  that  she  had  used 
throughout,  said : — 

"  What  comes  next  ?  " 

"  The  dropping  of  moisture  from  the  roof." 

"  What  next  ?  " 

"  Silence  and  darkness." 

Idris  began  to  think  that  he  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 
239 


The  Viking's  Skull 

ment.  Each  scene  described  by  Beatrice  had  been  fol 
lowed  by  an  interval,  sometimes  long,  sometimes  short, 
apparently  proportionate  to  the  actual  length  of  time  that 
had  elapsed  between  each  event.  How  many  minutes 
were  to  serve  as  a  measure  of  the  space  that  separated  the 
age  of  Orm  from  the  date  of  the  removal  of  the  treasure  ? 
Not  so  many,  he  trusted,  as  to  cause  Lorelie  to  bring  her 
experiment  to  a  close. 

"  How  much  time  is  passing  ?  " 

"  Centuries  —  long  centuries  —  centuries  of  silence  and 
darkness." 

For  a  long  time  Beatrice  continued  to  sit  without 
speaking.  At  length,  to  Idris'  satisfaction,  she  resumed 
her  monologue. 

"  A  muffled  noise  like  a  spade  digging.  The  falling  of 
earth.  Some  one  is  going  to  enter." 

"  Is  this  person  the  first  to  enter  the  hillock  since  the 
days  of  the  dark-haired  lady  ?  " 

"  The  very  first. —  Cool  air  blows  down  the  passage, 
filling  the  chamber  with  its  freshness.  It  penetrates  the 
chinks  of  the  tomb." 

"  Are  there  several  men,  or  only  one  ?  " 

"  One  only." 

"  What  is  he  doing  ?  " 

"  He  waits  a  long  time  at  the  entrance.  Now  he 
comes  forward  along  the  passage.  He  carries  a  light : 
it  gleams  through  the  interstices  of  the  tomb.  He 
walks  about,  his  feet  striking  against  pieces  of  metal. 
He  seems  to  be  picking  up  some.  Now,  with  a  cry,  he 
drops  them.  They  ring  on  the  hard  earth.  There 
are  fresh  footsteps  coming  along  the  passage.  Coming 
quickly,  too !  " 

Beatrice's  voice  had  lost  some  of  its  cold  ring :  she 
seemed  to  be  less  of  an  automaton  and  more  of  a  living 
woman,  capable  of  being  moved  by  what  she  saw  and 

240 


Told  by  the  Vase 

heard.  Idris  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  change.  It  was 
an  agreeable  change,  but  ominous  for  his  hopes.  She 
seemed  to  be  emerging  from  her  trance :  emerging,  too, 
at  a  very  significant  point  of  the  story. 

He  noticed,  too,  that  Lorelie's  interest  had  kept  pace 
with  his  own :  there  was  on  her  face  a  look  of  painful 
anxiety  that  had  been  entirely  absent  in  the  earlier  stages 
of  the  experiment. 

"  A  second  man  has  entered  the  place.  There  is  a 
silence.  They  seem  to  be  standing  still,  looking  at  each 
other.  Now  they  walk  to  and  fro  speaking." 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  " 

"  Their  voices  are  hushed !  Ha !  A  sound  like  the 
tearing  of  cloth.  The  dull  thud  as  of  a  body  falling  to 
the  earth.  A  gasp,  and  all  is  still.  The  footsteps  move 
about  again.  It  seems  as  if  only  one  man  is  there.  He 
comes  slowly  forward  and  approaches  the  tomb.  He 
places  the  light  upon  the  floor.  He  is  going  to  lift  the 
lid.  It  is  heavy.  He  can  scarcely  move  it.  He  pushes 
it  aside  with  his  hands.  Ah  ! "  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone 
of  disgust,  "  ah  !  his  fingers  are  wet  with  blood.  Some 
drops  fall  into  the  tomb.  Oh  ! "  she  gasped  in  the  voice 
of  one  who  suddenly  realizes  an  awful  truth.  "  Oh ! 
he  is  a  murderer!  He  has  killed  the  other.  He 
peers  into  the  tomb.  The  lamp  on  the  floor  lights 
up  his  face.  I  can  see  the  sparkle  of  his  eyes.  Oh  !  it 

gf\)   "" "" 

In  sheer  horror  Beatrice  paused  as  if  recognizing  the 
visionary  face. 

"  What !  You  know  him,"  cried  Lorelie,  wildly : 
and  to  Idris1  mind  there  was  as  much  horror  in  her 
voice  as  in  that  of  Beatrice.  "  You  know  him  ?  Who 
is  it  ?  " 

Instead  of  replying  Beatrice  tried  to  lift  her  hands  as 
though  their  removal  from  the  vase  would  dissolve  the 
16  241 


The  Viking's  Skull 

terrible  vision.  Lorelie  came  swiftly  forward  and  stayed 
her  action  with  an  imperative  gesture. 

Much  as  Idris  felt  the  necessity  for  intervention,  he 
refrained,  for  he  was  as  eager  for  the  name  as  Lorelie 
herself. 

"  You  recognize  him  ?  "  cried  Lorelie.  "  Who  is  it  ? 
His  name  ?  Who  has  more  right  to  know  it  than  I  ? 
Speak !  God  of  heaven,  I'll  wrest  the  name  from  you, 

though  you  were  dying No  !  stop  !  silence  !  "  she 

suddenly  exclaimed.  "  Do  not  say  the  name." 

Eager  to  learn  the  secret  Idris  had  been  incautiously 
pressing  against  the  silken  portiere,  and  even  in  the 
midst  of  her  agitation,  Lorelie  had  seen  the  movement  of 
the  curtain. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  she  cried : — 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend,"  replied  Idris  :  and  seeing  that  he  was  dis 
covered  he  lifted  the  curtain  and  entered  the  recess.  "  Let 
us  have  the  name,  and  then 

"  It  was  honourable  of  you  to  play  the  spy ! "  said 
Lorelie,  coldly :  and  Idris  could  not  help  feeling  that  he 
deserved  the  reproach. 

"  Miss  Ravengar,"  he  said,  stepping  up  to  Beatrice  and 
taking  both  her  hands  in  his  own :  "  tell  me  whose  face 
you  see  peering  into  the  tomb." 

"  A  face  peering  into  the  tomb  ?  I  —  I  don't  under 
stand." 

Beatrice's  voice  had  assumed  its  sweet  natural  ring. 
From  her  low  seat  she  looked  up  at  Idris  with  the  light 
of  gladness  in  her  eyes  at  seeing  him,  a  colour  on  her 
cheek  at  finding  her  hands  clasped  in  his. 

For  a  moment  he  eyed  her  keenly,  thinking  that  in  or 
der  to  shield  the  guilty  person  she  was  going  to  deny  the 
recognition.  Then  the  truth  flashed  upon  him.  She  had 
emerged  from  her  hypnotic  trance.  On  detecting  his 

242 


Told  by  the  Vase 

presence  the  viscountess  by  some  quick  sleight  of  hand 
must  have  restored  her  to  her  normal  state  of  mind. 

Beatrice's  wondering  eyes  showed  that  she  was  en 
tirely  ignorant  of  the  story  that  had  flowed  from  her 
lips. 

That  story  had  accomplished  one  good  end.  She  had 
spoken  of  the  assassin  as  a  man,  and  a  weight  was  lifted 
from  Idris'  mind.  Thank  heaven,  Lorelie  was  not  the 
author  of  the  deed  !  But  a  troubling  thought  remained. 
Was  she  a  friend  of  the  assassin,  an  accessory  after  the 
fact?  If  not,  why  was  she  so  anxious  to  conceal  his 
name? 

A  question  or  two  on  the  part  of  Idris  elicited  the  fact 
that  it  was  Beatrice  herself  who  had  suggested  the  ex 
periment  with  the  vase.  Lorelie,  who  was  versed  in  the 
art  of  hypnotism,  had  readily  assented,  being  as  eager  as 
Beatrice  to  learn  its  secret. 

And  now  that  the  experiment  was  over  Beatrice  looked 
from  Lorelie  to  Idris,  and  from  Idris  to  Lorelie,  wonder 
ing  why  each  seemed  so  grave. 

"  What  have  I  been  saying?"  she  asked. 

Lorelie  turned  to  Idris.  "  How  long  have  you  been 
here  ?  " 

"  From  the  beginning  of  your  experiment,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  Then  Beatrice  shall  learn  the  story  from  you." 

"  But  the  story  lacks  completion.  You  left  the  experi 
ment  unfinished  at  its  most  interesting  point. —  Lady 
Walden,"  continued  Idris,  gravely,  "  you  know  now,  if 
you  did  not  know  before,  that  a  murder  was  committed 
within  the  interior  of  Ormfell.  Justice  requires  that  the 
murderer  should  be  punished." 

"  Go  on,"  she  murmured,  as  he  paused. 

"  That  urn,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  the  golden  vase, 
"  formed  a  part  of  the  treasure  that  led  to  the  crime. 

243 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Whoever  gave  you  the  urn  was  either  the  assassin,  or 
obtained  it  through  the  agency  of  the  assassin." 

Idris  paused  again,  and  Lorelie  herself  uttered  the 
question  that  was  in  his  mind. 

"  And,  therefore,  you  would  learn  the  name  of  the 
giver  ?  " 

Idris  bowed. 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  you  ask  too  much." 

"  You  desire  to  shield  a  murderer?  " 

"  That  is  nothing  new  —  with  me.  I  have  been  doing 
that  for  many  years." 

No  look  could  be  more  mournful  than  that  accompany 
ing  her  words. 

"  You  will  not  give  me  the  name  that  was  trembling 
upon  the  lips  of  Miss  Ravengar  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  hear  it,"  replied  Lorelie,  evasively. 

"  But  you  have  formed  a  suspicion  ?  " 

"  My  suspicions  might  compromise  the  innocent,  even 
as  I  myself  have  been  compromised,"  she  added,  with  a 
reproachful  glance  at  Beatrice. 

"  Forgive  me,"  murmured  Beatrice,  with  drooping 
eyes. 

"  Are  we  not  all  liable  to  error  ?  "  said  Lorelie,  kissing 
her  tenderly.  "  I  commend  your  frankness  in  coming  to 
state  your  suspicions,  painful  though  it  was  for  me  to  lis 
ten.  No ;  though  fallen  from  what  I  might  be,  I  have 
not  yet  stooped  to  murder."  And  then,  turning  to  Idris, 
she  said : — 

"  If  I  refuse  your  request  I  do  so  in  order  that  I  may 
not  rashly  accuse  the  innocent.  When  I  have  verified 
my  suspicions,  you  shall  know  the  truth  :  for,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  no  one  will  have  more  right  to  the  knowledge 
than  yourself.  And  then,"  she  added,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  then  it  may  be  that  you  will  find  your  desire  for 
justice  evaporating." 

244 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    PACKET    OF    OLD    LETTERS 

FOR  more  than  an  hour  after  the  departure  of  Idris 
and  Beatrice,  Lorelie  remained  where  they  had 
left  her.  She  had  sunk  into  a  deep  reverie,  which, 
judged  by  the  expression  of  her  face,  was  of  a  painful 
character. 

"  Whence  did  Ivar  obtain  that  vase  ?  "  she  murmured. 
"  He  has  always  refused  to  tell.  '  Take  it,  and  ask  no 
questions,'  has  always  been  his  answer.  " '  That  urn,'  " 
she  continued,  repeating  Idris'  words,  "  '  formed  a  part  of 
the  treasure  that  led  to  a  murder.  Whoever  gave  you 
the  urn  was  either  the  assassin,  or  obtained  it  through 
the  agency  of  the  assassin.'  Ivar  gave  it  to  me,  but  he 
was  not  the  assassin.  No  !  the  deed  was  wrought  by  the 
hand  of  one  who  escaped  from  the  wreck  of  the  Idris. 
Let  me  read  those  letters  again  in  the  light  of  the  new 
knowledge  acquired  to-day." 

She  rose,  and  from  a  drawer  in  a  cabinet  took  a  packet 
of  letters. 

"  What  would  Idris  Breakspear  give  to  read  these  ! " 
she  murmured.  "  But  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  I 
must  put  them  into  his  hands ;  and  then,"  she  faltered, 
"  and  then  —  how  great  will  be  his  contempt  for  me  ! " 

Carrying  the  letters  to  the  table  she  sat  down  and 
untied  the  thread  that  bound  them. 

The  first  one  was  written  in  a  woman's  hand ;  and  the 
envelope  containing  it  bore  the  words,  "  To  my  daughter 
Lorelie." 

Madame  Rochefort  had,  when  dying,  given  this  letter 
245 


The  Viking's  Skull 

to  Lorelie  with  the  injunction  that  it  was  not  to  be  read 
till  after  its  writer  had  been  laid  in  the  grave. 

"  Dearest  Lorelie,"  it  ran, "  it  may  be  that  the  disclosure 
contained  in  this  letter  will  cause  you  to  view  the  memory 
of  your  mother  with  feelings  of  shame,  if  not  of  con 
tempt  :  but  leave  the  judgment  of  my  conduct,  or,  if  you 
should  so  term  it,  my  sin,  to  that  higher  tribunal  before 
which  I  now  stand,  and  be  not  too  quick  to  condemn, 
since  no  woman  can  rightly  judge  me  unless  she  herself 
has  stood  in  a  similar  position  to  mine. 

"  You  will  surmise  by  these  words  that  I  have  some 
strange  confession  to  make,  and  such  in  truth  is  the  case. 

<!  You,  my  daughter,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  have  hitherto  regarded  Eric  Marville  as  a  mur 
derer,  and  your  father,  Noel  Rochefort,  as  a  man  of  stain 
less  honour.  Learn  now  the  truth  that  these  opinions 
must  be  reversed  :  it  was  your  father,  and  not  Eric  Mar 
ville,  that  murdered  Henri  Duchesne.  And  for  twenty 
years  I  have  kept  this  guilty  secret  locked  within  my 
breast,  shielding  my  husband's  reputation  to  the  injury 
of  another's. 

"  Let  me  tell  the  tale,  and  that  in  as  few  words  as  pos 
sible,  for  it  is  a  melancholy  reminiscence ;  why  should  I 
linger  over  it  ? 

"  I  married  your  father  in  1869. 

"  During  the  first  year  of  our  wedded  life  we  lived  at 
Nantes,  your  father's  regiment  having  been  stationed  there. 

"  Our  circle  of  friends  included,  besides  others,  the 
Englishman,  Eric  Marville ;  and  the  Gascon,  Henri 
Duchesne.  The  latter,  some  years  before,  had  been  a 
suitor  for  my  hand ;  and  to  my  uneasiness  I  discovered 
that  though  he  himself  was  now  married,  he  had  not 
abandoned  his  passion  for  me.  I  remained  deaf  to  his 
advances.  Thereupon  his  love  turned  to  hatred,  and, 
desirous  of  evoking  my  husband's  suspicion  and  jealousy, 

246 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

he  had  the  baseness  to  boast  among  his  friends  that  he 
had  found  in  me  an  easy  conquest.  Though  full  of  secret 
fury  your  father  hesitated  to  send  a  challenge,  since 
Duchesne  was  deadly  with  pistol  and  sword :  to  face  him 
in  duel  was  to  face  certain  death. 

"  Your  father  was  a  Corsican  and  took  a  Corsican's 
way  of  avenging  himself. 

"  One  memorable  summer  night  I  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  upper  room  of  our  house,  which  overlooked  the 
Place  Graslin,  awaiting  the  return  of  your  father  from  the 
Armorique  Club.  The  hour  was  late.  All  was  quiet  in 
the  square  below.  I  opened  the  window  and  looked  out 
upon  the  moonlit  night.  A  footstep  upon  the  pavement 
attracted  my  attention,  and  stepping  forwards  I  looked 
downwards  over  the  rail  of  the  veranda.  Henri  Duchesne 
was  standing  below :  he  looked  up,  saw  me,  and  kissed 
his  hand.  At  that  moment,  from  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway,  there  leaped  a  man  whose  fingers  immediately 
twined  themselves  around  Duchesne's  throat.  Though 
taken  by  surprise  he  instantly  recovered  himself,  and 
drew  forth  a  dagger,  the  recent  gift,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  of  Eric  Marville. 

"  I  tried  to  call  for  help,  but  found  myself  dumb  with 
horror.  Mutely  I  leaned  against  the  rail  of  the  veranda 
watching  the  silent  and  savage  death-grapple  taking  place 
beneath  my  very  feet.  The  dagger  changed  hands :  a 
swift  stroke,  and  Duchesne  lay  stretched  upon  the 
pavement. 

"  The  whole  affair  did  not  last  more  than  a  minute.  I 
recoiled  from  the  veranda,  cold  and  trembling.  Though 
I  had  not  seen  his  face  I  knew  only  too  well  who  it  was 
that  had  wrought  the  deed. 

"  I  staggered  to  a  sofa  and  fainted. 

"  When  I  awoke,  your  father  was  sitting  beside  me. 

" '  It  was  a  dream/  I  murmured. 
247 


The  Viking's  Skull 

" '  It  was  no  dream,  Therese,  but  reality,  nor  do  I 
regret  the  deed.  He  sought  your  dishonour.  He  de 
served  to  die.  It  was  an  act  of  justice.' 

"  '  Let  us  fly  from  Nantes  before  you  are  discovered,' 
I  said. 

" '  Unwise  !  Stationed  here  with  my  regiment,  and 
living  close  to  the  scene  of  the  deed,  I  dare  not  fly. 
Suspicion  would  fall  upon  me  at  once.' 

"  Next  day  we  heard  that  Eric  Marville  had  been 
arrested  for  the  murder.  '  Have  no  fear  on  his  account/ 
said  your  father  to  me.  '  He  did  not  commit  the  deed : 
how,  then,  can  they  prove  that  he  did  ? '  The  trial  drew 
nigh,  and  to  my  dismay  I  learned  that  I,  as  being  present 
in  the  house  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  was  cited  to  give 
evidence.  Your  father,  anticipating  every  kind  of  ques 
tion  that  could  be  put,  instructed  me  what  to  say,  and 
for  many  days  continued  drilling  me  in  the  answers  I  was 
to  give.  When  the  time  came  for  me  to  take  my  place 
in  court  I  stood  up  and  swore  an  oath  —  heaven  forgive 
the  falsehood !  —  that  I  was  asleep  at  the  time  of  the 
murder,  and  heard  nothing  whatever  of  the  scuffle. 

"  The  trial  ended  :  the  prisoner  was  found  guilty,  and 
condemned  to  the  guillotine.  Never  shall  I  forget 
Madame  Marville's  cry  of  agony  when  the  sentence  was 
pronounced.  How  often  in  the  dead  of  night  have  I 
started  from  sleep  with  that  cry  ringing  in  my  ears ! 

"  From  the  tribunal  I  returned  home  heart-broken  by 
the  black  wickedness  of  which  I  had  been  guilty.  If 
Marville  died,  what  was  I  but  his  murderess  ? 

"  '  Noel,'  I  said,  that  same  night,  '  you  will  not  let  the 
innocent  suffer  ? ' 

" '  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  '  was  his  reply. 
'  Walk  to  the  guillotine  instead  of  him  ?  Upon  my 
word,  you  are  an  affectionate  wife !  ' 

"  I  shuddered,  for  he  spoke  truth.  I  could  prove  the 
248 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

innocence  of  Eric  Marville  only  at  the  price  of  Noel's 
death. 

"  Was  it  for  the  wife  to  bring  her  husband  to  the 
guillotine  ? 

"  How  I  preserved  my  reason  at  this  time  I  do  not 
know.  It  came  somewhat  as  a  relief  to  learn  that  Mar- 
ville's  sentence  was  changed  to  imprisonment  for  life. 

" '  If  you  may  not  prove  his  innocence,'  I  said,  '  there 
is  one  thing  you  can  do  for  him.  Aid  him  to  escape 
from  prison  to  some  far-off  land,  where  he  may  live  in 
happiness  with  his  wife  and  child.' 

"  '  Ah  !  I  might  do  that,'  your  father  replied.  The  no 
tion  seemed  to  appeal  to  his  spirit  of  daring  and  adven 
ture.  '  That's  a  devilish  good  idea  of  yours,  Therese. 
There  would  be  a  dash  of  excitement  in  it !  Only/  he 
added,  gloomily,  stopping  in  his  walk,  '  it  will  mean  the 
utter  ruin  of  my  career.  It  is  whispered  that  the  Minis 
try  intend  to  appoint  me  to  the  next  Colonial  Governor 
ship.  I  should  like  to  see  the  fellow  free,  but  his  rescue 
must  be  left  to  others.  It  cannot  be  done  by  me.  I 
should  have  to  escape  with  him,  and  become  exiled  from 
France  forever.  No  !  no  !  it's  impossible.' 

"  But  I  would  not  let  the  idea  sleep.  I  gave  him  no 
rest,  continually  urging  him  to  the  work  of  rescue,  even 
threatening  to  reveal  the  truth  in  connection  with  the 
murder,  till  at  last,  wearied  by  my  importunities,  he  ma 
tured  a  plan  for  Marville's  rescue.  The  result  you  know. 
After  an  imprisonment  of  five  years  Eric  Marville 
escaped  from  Valagenet  Prison,  and  was  hurried  on  board 
the  yacht  Nemesis  that  was  waiting  for  him  in  Quilaix 
Bay.  Your  father  went  with  him  ;  as  a  law-breaker  he 
could  not  remain  in  France.  I  would  have  accompanied 
their  flight,  but  the  hour  of  your  birth  was  drawing  near. 
It  had  been  arranged,  therefore,  that  I  should  join  them 
at  a  later  date.  Alas  !  I  never  set  eyes  upon  your  father 

249 


The  Viking's  Skull 

again.  He  corresponded  with  me  at  irregular  intervals, 
but  after  a  lapse  of  eighteen  months  his  letters  ceased. 
The  yacht  in  which  he  was  cruising  from  place  to  place 
foundered  off  the  English  coast,  and  I  have  no  reason  to 
believe  that  he  escaped  a  watery  grave. 

"  If  thus  certain  of  his  death,  why,  you  may  ask,  did  I 
not  immmediately  make  known  the  truth  concerning  the 
murder  ? 

"  Fear  for  myself,  love  for  you,  were  the  motives 
prompting  me  to  concealment. 

"  I  was  an  accessory  after  the  fact,  a  perjurer  likewise, 
and  therefore  amenable  to  the  law.  You  were  a  babe  of 
eighteen  months,  pretty  and  charming,  the  light  of  my 
life.  To  proclaim  the  truth  meant  imprisonment  for  me, 
separation  from  you  ;  and  withal,  disgrace  upon  our  com 
mon  name.  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  this,  and, 
therefore,  deaf  to  the  voice  of  justice,  I  continued  to  keep 
the  truth  hidden. 

"  But  now,  assured  by  the  physician  that  I  have  not 
many  days  to  live,  I  dare  not  die  without  making  you 
the  confidante  of  my  guilty  secret. 

"  This  letter,  signed  with  my  name,  together  with  your 
father's  correspondence,  which  is  contained  in  my  private 
desk,  will  afford  sufficient  evidence  of  the  innocence  of 
Eric  Marville. 

"  To  you,  then,  my  daughter,  I  leave  the  duty  of  clear 
ing  the  memory  of  an  injured  man,  hoping  that  you  will 
be  brave  enough  to  face  the  consequent  ignominy  which 
must  forever  rest  upon  our  name. 

"  THERESE  ROCHEFORT." 

Lorelie  laid  down  the  letter  with  a  sigh. 
"  But  I  was  not  brave  enough,"  she  murmured. 
Her  father,  Noel  Rochefort,  was  credited  with  having 
destroyed  a  brilliant  future  by  his  chivalrous  enterprise 

250 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

of  rescuing  from  prison  a  friend  whom  he  deemed  to  be 
innocent :  and,  as  the  daughter  of  such,  Lorelie,  wher 
ever  she  went,  found  herself  an  object  of  interest  and 
sympathy,  almost  a  heroine.  Must  she  now  proclaim 
that  her  father,  the  supposed  hero,  was  in  reality  a  mur 
derer,  and  one,  too,  so  base  that  in  order  to  save  his  own 
neck  he  would  have  seen  an  innocent  man,  and  his  friend, 
go  to  the  guillotine  ? 

She  was  sixteen  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  her 
mother's  death,  and  lovely  in  face  and  figure ;  her  friends 
flattered  her  vanity  by  averring  that  with  her  beauty  and 
accomplishments  she  might  win  the  love  of  a  nobleman, 
or  even  of  a  prince !  But  what  nobleman  or  prince 
would  marry  the  daughter  of  a  felon  ?  Therefore,  she 
resolved  to  let  the  truth  be  hidden.  If  Eric  Marville 
were  still  living  he  was  free  ;  let  him  rejoice  in  that  fact : 
if  dead,  her  attestation  of  his  innocence  would  do  him  no 
good.  True,  she  knew  that  Marville  had  left  a  son,  who 
must  often  have  felt  shame  at  the  stigma  resting  on  his 
name.  But  this  son  would  now  be  twenty-three  years  of 
age  ;  he  had  grown  up,  she  cynically  argued,  accustomed 
to  the  feeling,  whereas  in  her  case  the  knowledge  had 
come  upon  her  with  a  sudden  and  overwhelming  shock. 
She  pictured  the  pitying  looks  of  her  friends,  the  gibes 
of  the  malicious  (for  her  beauty  had  made  for  her  many 
enemies),  and  she  shrank  from  facing  the  new  situation. 
No :  let  the  unknown  Idris  Marville  bear  the  disgrace 
that  of  right  belonged  to  her.  And  when,  a  month  or 
two  later,  she  learned  from  the  newspapers  that  this  same 
Idris  Marville  had  perished  in  a  fire  at  Paris,  she  felt  a 
sense  of  relief. 

But  retribution  was  to  follow  ! 

The  day  came  when  her  life  was  in  such  danger  that 
she  must  have  perished  but  for  the  providential  help  of  a 
certain  stranger;  and  when  that  stranger  proved  to  be 

251 


The  Viking's  Skull 

none  other  than  the  Idris  Marville  whom  she  was  wrong 
ing  by  her  guilty  silence,  her  feeling  of  remorse  was  so 
great  that  she  was  almost  tempted  to  leap  from  the  rock 
into  the  sea.  To  withhold  the  truth  was  pain,  yet  to  de 
clare  it  would  be  to  earn  Idris'  contempt.  Every  kindly 
word,  every  pleasant  look  on  his  part,  had  gone  to  her 
heart  like  so  many  thrusts  of  steel. 

The  irony  of  fate  !  She  had  married  Viscount  Walden 
in  the  expectation  of  succeeding  to  a  coronet,  and  now 
the  belief  was  gradually  forming  in  her  mind  that  Idris 
was  the  rightful  heir  of  Ravenhall :  Beatrice  Ravengar, 
and  not  herself,  was  destined  to  be  the  Countess  of 
Ormsby. 

O,  if  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  following  the  dictates  of 
justice,  she  had  tried  to  find  Idris  Marville,  and  finding, 
had  given  him  her  mother's  written  confession,  how  dif 
ferent  her  life  might  have  been !  Idris  would  perhaps 
have  been  attracted  by  her  then  as  he  had  been  seven 
years  later.  But  now?  She  was  united  to  a  husband 
whom  she  felt  to  be  worthless  :  a  husband  who  had 
ceased  to  care  for  her :  a  husband  whose  title  of  right  be 
longed  to  Idris. 

"  I  am  justly  punished,"  she  murmured,  bitterly. 

The  remaining  contents  of  the  packet  drawn  by 
Lorelie  from  the  escritoire  consisted  of  the  correspond 
ence  mentioned  by  Madame  Rochefort  in  her  inculpatory 
letter. 

Arranging  these  missives  according  to  the  order  of 
time  in  which  they  were  written  Lorelie  took  up  the  first, 
which  dealt  with  the  events  that  followed  upon  the  flight 
from  Quilaix. 

"  The  Pelayo  Hotel,  Pajares. 

25th  April,  1875. 

"  The  newspapers  will  already  have  told  you  how  ad- 
252 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

mirably  the  rescue  was  planned  and  carried  out,  so  I  need 
not  dwell  upon  that  point. 

"  There  was,  however,  one  awkward  hitch  in  the  ar 
rangement —  the  death  of  Mrs.  Marville  :  but  I  am  not  to 
blame  for  that.  Had  P3ric  listened  to  me  it  would  not 
have  happened ;  my  intention  was  to  proceed  direct  to 
the  yacht :  he  would  turn  aside  to  take  his  wife  with  him  : 
now  he  has  no  wife. 

"  Eric  Marville  is  free,  and  I  hope  you  are  satisfied. 

"  The  superscription  of  this  letter  will  show  you  that  we 
are  no  longer  on  board  the  Nemesis. 

"  '  What  is  Pajares  ?  '  you  may  ask.  A  mere  hamlet 
on  the  northern  slope  of  the  Asturian  Sierras,  so  high 
up  as  to  be  almost  in  the  clouds :  and  the  building 
dignified  with  the  name  of  hotel  is  but  a  miserable  log 
posada. 

"  How  we  come  to  be  here  is  soon  told. 

"  To  fly  from  Quilaix  to  the  open  sea  was  an  easy 
task  :  the  difficulty  was  to  attain  dry  land  again  in  safety ; 
for,  as  our  romantic  escapade  would  form  the  chief  topic 
in  all  the  newspapers,  it  was  pretty  certain  that  at  every 
port  a  watch  would  be  kept  for  our  yacht.  We  feared 
putting  into  harbour.  But  land  we  must — somewhere. 
We  could  not  cruise  forever  on  the  open  main.  How  to 
land  without  detection  was  the  problem. 

"  Chance  decided  our  course  of  action.  We  lay  be 
calmed  in  a  wild  rocky  bay  off  the  Asturian  coast.  An 
choring  a  mile  from  land  we  swept  the  shore  with  the 
glass  :  there  was  neither  village  nor  human  dwelling  visi 
ble,  not  a  living  creature  in  sight.  It  was  the  very  spot 
for  our  purpose ;  and,  as  if  to  favour  us  still  more,  a  mist 
came  on.  Marville  proposed  that  we  should  go  ashore  in 
the  boat,  and  get  rid  of  the  tell-tale  yacht  by  scuttling  it 
there  and  then.  I  was  compelled  to  agree  to  this  plan, 
for  I  could  devise  none  better.  It  went  to  my  heart  to 

253 


The  Viking's  Skull 

watch  the  beautiful  Nemesis  sinking  out  of  sight  forever, 
but  it  would  have  gone  to  my  heart  still  more  to  be  cap 
tured  by  a  French  cruiser,  and  provided  with  a  cell  at 
Valagenet. 

"  Fortunately,  the  sea  was  as  smooth  as  glass  and  the 
wind  still  as  we  rowed  off,  otherwise  enveloped  in  a  fog 
on  an  ironbound  coast  we  might  have  fared  ill.  We  ran 
the  boat  ashore  in  safety,  destroyed  it  immediately  after 
wards,  and  paid  off  our  crew,  who  were  as  glad  as  our 
selves  to  be  quit  of  the  yacht,  for  they,  too,  as  fellow- 
conspirators  in  the  rescue-plot,  were  amenable  to  justice. 

"  We  dispersed :  and  since  the  crew  went  eastward, 
Marville  and  I  turned  our  faces  westward,  and  walking 
all  night  as  chance  directed,  found  ourselves  at  early  dawn 
at  Gijon,  where  we  rested.  We  assumed  the  character  of 
pedestrian  tourists.  From  Gijon  we  moved  on  to  Oviedo, 
and  thence  to  the  mountain-hamlet  of  Pajares,  where  I 
write  this. 

"  I  have  found  Marville  far  from  being  a  pleasant  com 
panion  :  the  death  of  his  wife  has  gloomed  his  spirits,  and 
has  poisoned  the  pleasure  he  might  otherwise  derive  from 
his  newly-acquired  freedom. 

"  His  talk,  on  the  few  occasions  when  he  does  talk, 
turns  mainly  upon  that  accident,  and  upon  the  look  of 
horror  which  his  boy  gave  him.  '  He  will  never  want  to 
see  me  again,'  he  mutters  moodily. 

"  I  was  not  sorry  when  he  proposed  that  we  should 
part.  He  saw  that  his  gloom  was  an  ill-match  for  my 
cheerful  nature.  With  his  love  of  mountaineering  he  re 
solved  to  cross  the  sierras,  and  to  penetrate  into  Leon. 
He  set  off  without  a  guide.  From  the  door  of  \\~\e  posada 
I  watched  him  ascending  the  mountain-path,  his  solitary 
black  form  outlined  against  the  white  snow.  He 
dwindled  to  a  speck,  and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him. 
Shall  we  ever  see  each  other  again  ?  He  forgot  to  make 

254 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

arrangements  for  a  future  meeting,  and  I  didn't  remind 
him  of  the  point. 

"  He  has  done  me  irreparable  injury.  For  him  I  have 
wrecked  a  brilliant  military  career,  lost  a  Colonial  Gover 
norship,  and  made  myself  an  exile  forever  from  la  belle 
France.  Why  should  I  confess  the  deed  to  him  ? 
Haven't  I  made  the  fellow  sufficient  atonement  ?  " 

Lorelie  took  up  another  letter,  which  was  dated  more 
than  a  twelvemonth  after  the  first. 

"  Hotel  d'Angleterre, 

Salerno, 
loth  May,  1876. 

"  I  verily  believe  that  the  continual  mention  of  an 
absent  evil  has  the  power  of  causing  that  evil  to  appear. 
In  every  one  of  your  letters  you  have  alluded,  despite  my 
forbiddance,  to  Eric  Marville  and  his  innocence.  Your 
persistency  in  this  respect  seems  to  have  raised  him  up 
again  from  the  things  of  the  past  —  a  past  I  was  begin 
ning  to  forget. 

"  You  can  guess  what  is  coming. 

"  I  have  met  with  Eric  Marville.  More  than  a  year 
has  passed  since  I  parted  from  him  in  the  village  inn  of 
Pajares,  hoping  never  more  to  set  eyes  upon  him :  and 
now  his  disturbing  presence  is  with  me  again.  '  Dis 
turbing  ? '  you  say.  Yes.  You  know  the  aphorism, 
'  We  hate  those  whom  we  have  injured  ; '  and  I  suppose 
I  have  injured  him  :  you  so  often  say  it  in  your  letters 
that  I  have  come  at  last  to  believe  it. 

"  What  folly  led  me  to  Campania  ?  I  might  have 
foreseen  our  meeting  ;  for,  prior  to  the  rescue,  did  not  I 
transfer  his  banking  account  under  an  assumed  name  to 
Messrs.  Stradella,  of  Naples  ? 

"  But  to  our  meeting. 

255 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Yesterday  I  made  an  excursion  to  Paestum,  and, 
fortunately,  had  the  place  to  myself.  Not  one  tourist 
was  there.  Solitary  and  charmed  I  wandered  for  a 
whole  day  among  the  magnificent  ruins  of  the  past. 

"  Amid  the  stillness  of  a  lovely  twilight  I  sat  down  at 
the  base  of  a  marble  column  belonging  to  the  Temple  of 
Neptune.  The  whole  circle  of  the  sky,  from  the  wine- 
dark  sea  before  me  to  the  peaks  of  the  cypress-clad 
mountains  behind,  was  flushed  with  the  deep  violet  hues 
to  be  seen  only  in  this  southern  clime. 

"  I  smoked  a  cigar  and  drank  in  the  pure  air  of  peace. 
It  was  a  time  disposing  one  to  turn  poet,  monk,  or  some 
body  equally  moral.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  night 
at  Nantes. 

"  Suddenly  my  eye  caught  sight  of  a  shadow.  I 
looked  up ;  and  there  was  Eric  Marville  watching  me 
with  an  expression  that  made  me  feel  uneasy,  I  could  not 
tell  why. 

"  On  seeing  that  I  had  noticed  him  he  came  forward. 
He  did  not  offer  his  hand,  but  smiled  mysteriously, 
almost  exultantly,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  and  took  a  seat 
opposite  me  on  a  fallen  pillar. 

"  At  first  we  talked  commonplaces.  Presently  he  re 
marked  : 

"'I  am  going  yachting  among  the  fiords  of  Norway. 
You  must  accompany  me.' 

"  His  manner  implied  that  he  was  master  and  /  serv 
ant  !  Why  should  he  desire  me  for  his  compagnon  de 
voyage,  seeing  that,  as  matters  are  at  present,  we  are  so 
unlike  each  other,  he  gloomy,  I  gay  ? 

"  '  There  is  a  fine  yacht  for  sale  at  Naples.  The  price 
is  moderate.  I  propose  that  we  divide  it  between  us.' 

"  Do  you  believe,  Therese,  that  man  is  a  free  agent, 
with  full  control  over  his  own  actions  ?  Of  course  you 
answer  <  Yes ' ;  your  father-confessor  has  preached  the 

256 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

doctrine  a  hundred  times.  I  answer  •  No ' !  How, 
otherwise,  can  I  account  for  my  conduct?  I  hate  the 
fellow  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  go  yachting  ;  I  have  a  presenti 
ment  that  ill  will  come  of  it.  Nevertheless,  I  have  given 
him  my  promise.  Explain  that,  if  you  can." 

"  The  Hotel  Crocelle,  Naples, 
2d  June,  1876. 

"  The  transfer  of  the  yacht  is  complete.  It  is  as  pretty 
a  vessel  as  one  could  desire.  Over  it  my  first  open  va 
riance  with  Marville  arose.  I  say  '  open,'  because,  se 
cretly,  we  have  been  in  a  state  of  hostility  to  each  other 
since  the  day  of  our  meeting  at  Paestum. 

"  Marville  was  desirous  of  changing  the  name  of  our 
new-bought  yacht.  I  suggested  Lorelie,  after  the  little 
daughter  whom  I  trust  one  day  to  see  ;  he  wished  it  to 
be  called  Idris,  after  his  child.  The  spin  of  a  coin  de 
cided  the  point  in  his  favour.  The  crew  are  all  English, 
and  have  given  proof  of  it.  When  Marville  ordered  the 
new  name  to  be  painted,  they  begged  him  not  to  rechris- 
ten  the  vessel,  declaring  that  to  do  so  would  bring  ill- 
luck.  Marville  treated  their  opinion  with  contempt.  He 
rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  slung  a  plank  over  the  side, 
and  set  to  work  himself,  painting  the  name  Idris  as  if  to 
the  manner  born.  Two  of  the  crew  deserted  in  conse 
quence.  Strange  that  English  sailors,  so  bold  in  fight, 
should  be  so  superstitious  !  " 

"  The  Yacht  Idris,  Gibraltar, 

7th  July,  1876. 

"  Marville  is  a  wretched  companion.  Twelve  months 
of  freedom  ought  to  have  made  him  as  bright  and  gay  as 
in  the  old  days,  instead  of  which  he  is  the  same  melan 
choly  being  who  left  me  at  Pajares,  with  only  one  topic 
of  conversation  —  his  unjust  conviction. 
17  257 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  You  ask  me  whether  I  shall  ever  tell  him  that  it  was 
I  who  slew  Duchesne  ?  You  might  as  well  ask  me 
whether  I  want  my  throat  cut  at  once  ?  That  little 
affair  at  Nantes  was  the  beginning  of  a  train  of  circum 
stances  that  ended  in  the  death  of  his  wife.  He  would 
hold  me  primarily  responsible  for  this  last  unlucky  acci 
dent.  Tell  him  the  true  story  !  I  would  as  soon  tell  the 
Minister  of  Justice,  who  would  at  least  see  that  I  had  a 
fair  trial,  whereas  Marville,  in  his  present  state  of  gloom, 
is  incapable  of  listening  to  reason.  Yesterday,  while 
toying  with  his  knife  at  dinner,  he  muttered,  '  I  would 
that  the  assassin  of  Duchesne  were  before  me  now  ! ' 
You  can  guess  how  I  felt  at  those  words.  I  am  in  a 
trying  situation.  Every  day  I  have  to  listen  to  a  new 
theory  accounting  for  the  cause  of  the  murder,  with  re 
marks  as  to  how  an  intelligent  detective  ought  to  set  to 
work.  It  is  not  enough  for  me  to  smoke  in  silence ;  he 
wants  to  hear  theories  from  me  on  the  matter,  and  be 
comes  angry  because  I  have  none  to  give.  I  wish  to 
God  he  would  talk  of  something  else  besides  the  one 
everlasting  theme !  I  feel  that  I  shall  be  betraying  my 
self  some  day. 

"  You  remember  the  silver  altar-ring  engraved  with 
runic  letters,  the  ring  that  he  entrusted  to  my  secret 
keeping  on  the  morning  of  his  arrest?  After  his  trial  I 
handed  the  relic  to  his  wife,  but  scarcely  knowing  why, 
I  made  a  copy  of  the  runic  inscription.  This  copy  hap 
pened  to  be  among  my  papers  on  board  the  Nemesis, 
and,  believe  me,  when  leaving  the  sinking  yacht,  Marville 
betrayed  more  concern  over  this  wretched  piece  of  writ 
ing  than  over  anything  else  on  board. 

"  It  seems  that  he  has  been  studying  my  transcript 
during  the  past  year,  trying  to  extract  some  meaning 
from  it :  and  though  failing  hitherto,  he  still  perseveres. 

"  He  talks  oddly  at  times,  and  I  am  beginning  to  be- 
258 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

lieve  that  his  mind  is  unhinged.  He  declared  to-day 
that  he  is  the  rightful  heir  to  a  peerage,  and  could  take 
his  rank  to-morrow  if  he  chose.  Of  course  I  believe  this  ! " 

"  The  Yacht  Idris,  Penzance, 
1 2th  July,  1876. 

"  If  you  perceive  a  difference  in  my  penmanship 
ascribe  it  to  my  trembling  hand.  I  am  in  a  state  of 
nervous  fear.  The  strangest,  the  most  inexplicable,  the 
weirdest  event  of  my  life,  happened  yesterday.  I  was 
cleansing  my  hands  in  a  bowl  of  water.  Marville  was 
standing  beside  me.  Suddenly  he  observed  in  a  very 
strange  tone, '  Do  your  hands  always  redden  the  water 
like  that  ?  ' 

"  I  glance  downwards.  The  water  in  the  basin  —  be 
lieve  me  or  not,  as  you  will  —  was  as  crimson  as  blood  ! 
My  God !  it  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  water  in 
which  I  washed  my  hands  that  night ! 

"  I  could  see  by  the  mirror  that  my  face  had  turned  as 
white  as  chalk.  My  agitation  was  too  obvious  to  escape 
Marville's  notice.  He  smiled  strangely,  and  turned 
away.  What  does  it  mean  ?  Can  it  be  that  he  suspects 
me  of — that?  I  have  not  yet  recovered  from  the 
shock,  though  it  happened  twenty-four  hours  ago,  nor 
have  I  washed  my  hands  since  then.  My  God  !  if  it 
should  happen  again !  I  never  expected  to  feel  regret 
for  the  death  of  Duchesne ;  nevertheless,  I  do.  It  has 
reduced  me  to  a  devilishly  nervous  state  of  mind.  I 
suppose  moralists  would  say  that  I  am  suffering  retribu 
tion. 

"  One  of  the  sailors  declares  that  he  heard  me  talking 
in  my  sleep.  I  must  keep  my  cabin-door  locked  at 
night.  If  I  should  babble  of  that,  and  wake  to  find 
Marville  sitting  by  my  bedside  with  an  awful  smile  and 
with  glassy  eyes  fixed  on  me ! " 

259 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  The  Yacht  Idris,  Trondheim, 
loth  September,  1876. 

"  I  verily  believe  that  Marville  is  mad  !  He  pretends 
that  he  has  deciphered  the  runic  inscription.  It  relates 
to  the  buried  treasure  of  an  old  Norse  Viking  —  which 
treasure,  he  avers,  still  exists  in  the  spot  where  it  was 
hidden,  a  thousand  years  ago,  the  site  being  some  point 
on  the  eastern  coast  of  England.  A  short  run  across  the 
North  Sea  will  bring  us  to  the  place.  He  is  bent  on 
finding  it.  Is  it  not  clear  that  he  is  mad  ? 

"  Hitherto  I  have  taken  charge  of  the  yacht.  Now  he 
has  assumed  the  command,  heedless  of  my  mild  pro 
tests.  The  crew  do  not  like  this  change  of  masters. 
His  seamanship  is  of  the  wildest  character.  He  de 
lights  to  sport  with  reefs  and  eddies,  with  winds  and 
storms.  Thank  heaven  !  we  are  going  no  farther  north, 
or  he  would  take  a  diabolical  pleasure  in  steering  us  all 
into  the  Maelstrom  in  order  to  demonstrate  how  cleverly 
he  could  get  us  out  again.  This  may  be  all  very  well  for 
him,  who  is  in  love  with  death,  but  for  my  part  I  prefer 
to  live. 

"  He  has  exchanged  his  former  melancholy  mood  for 
one  of  reckless  mirth.  He  drinks  :  talks  loudly  :  laughs  : 
and  promises  to  divide  his  imaginary  treasure  among  the 
crew.  '  To  obtain  it,'  he  says,  '  we  shall  have  to  pene 
trate  to  the  chamber  of  the  dead,  for  its  hiding-place  is 
the  tomb.  But  the  ancient  curse  must  be  fulfilled ;  and 
you,'  he  added,  turning  to  me, '  shall  be  our  Protesilaus.' 

"  My  classics  have  grown  rusty.  Who  the  devil  was 
Protesilaus  ?  " 

"  The  Yacht  Idris,  Bergen, 

7th  October,  1876. 

"  I  have  discovered  who  Protesilaus  was  —  a  Greek 
hero  who  sacrificed  his  life  to  procure  the  safety  of  his 

260 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

friends.  Curious  !  What  does  Marville  mean  by  calling 
me  Protesilaus  ? 

"  A  strange  occurrence  took  place  last  night.  A  sub 
dued  wailing  was  heard  among  the  shrouds.  The  thick 
fog  prevented  us  from  discovering  the  origin  of  the 
sound.  Fear  fell  on  the  crew,  and  none  of  them  would 
ascend  the  rigging  to  ascertain  the  cause.  They  mut 
tered  that  it  was  a  ghost,  and  that  it  foreboded  ill  to  all 
on  board.  Marville  laughed  at  them  for  a  pack  of  fools  ! 
Of  course  it  was  nothing  but  the  moaning  of  some  sea- 
bird,  but,  for  all  that,  in  my  then  state  of  mind  it  was 
sufficiently  disquieting. 

"  I  retired  to  rest,  but  only  to  lie  awake  all  night  with 
that  eerie  sound  playing  around  the  vessel.  The  sailors 
have  lost  all  cheerfulness,  and  believe  themselves  to  be 
living  on  a  doomed  ship.  '  What  vessel  ever  did  well, 
after  she  was  re-named  ? '  asked  one.  I  confess  that  I 
myself  am  affected  by  the  general  gloom,  but  when  I  ex 
pressed  to  Marville  my  intention  of  remaining  at  Bergen 
till  his  return  from  the  treasure-search,  he  cried,  '  No, 
no !  you,  of  all  persons,  must  not  leave  us.'  Why  not  ? 
I  thought  of  Protesilaus  again. 

"  The  more  I  consider  his  moody  watchful  manner 
towards  me  of  late,  the  more  convinced  I  grow  that  he 
suspects  me  of  the  killing  of  Duchesne.  He  has  lured 
me  on  board  this  yacht  with  the  object  of  torturing  my 
conscience ;  by  perpetually  dwelling  upon  the  crime  he 
hopes  to  entrap  me  into  a  confession.  So  far  he  has 
failed,  but  my  position  is  a  terrible  one.  I  feel  intuitively 
that  he  is  maturing  some  scheme  of  vengeance. 

"  '  Why  do  I  not  escape  ?  '  you  may  ask.  Impossible  ! 
The  sailors,  I  believe,  have  orders  to  watch  me.  If  I  go 
ashore  he  accompanies  me,  ostensibly  from  friendship,  in 
reality  to  keep  guard  over  me.  His  dreadful  smile  fasci 
nates  me,  and  chains  me  to  him.  I  seem  to  have  lost  all 

261 


The  Viking's  Skull 

freedom  of  will  and  action,  and  to  have  fallen  completely 
under  the  spell  of  some  weird  being  from  another  world. 
I  feel  that  ere  long  he  will  draw  the  secret  from  me. 

"  When  I  behold  my  reflection  in  the  glass  I  cannot 
refrain  from  the  thought,  '  Can  that  be  the  once  brilliant 
and  handsome  Rochefort  ? '  I  look  ten  years  older  — 
grey,  haggard.  I  should  be  quite  safe  in  returning  to 
France,  for  no  one  would  recognize  me  now. 

"  If  there  be  a  tribunal  above  to  which  one  is  responsi 
ble  for  the  deeds  done  on  earth,  I  trust  that  the  remorse 
I  have  suffered  of  late  will  be  taken  into  account." 

"  The  Yacht  Idris.     In  Ormsby  Roads, 
1 3th  October,  1876,  7  p.m. 

"  We  are  anchored  off  the  English  coast  in  front  of  a 
little  town  called  Ormsby-on-Sea.  To  the  right  of  the 
town  and  about  a  mile  from  the  shore  rise  the  towers  of 
some  old  castle,  embowered  in  a  woodland  vale,  and 
forming  a  pretty  feature  in  the  landscape.  Marville 
seems  to  take  a  great  interest  in  this  edifice;  all  this 
morning  he  has  been  studying  it  through  the  telescope. 

" '  Haven't  seen  the  place  for  ten  years,'  he  muttered. 
'  wonder  if  he  is  still  alive.' 

"  I  asked  him  the  name  of  the  place.  A  scowl  was 
my  only  answer.  He  hasn't  improved  in  amiability 
since  we  left  Bergen.  In  the  dictatorial  spirit  assumed 
by  him  of  late  he  will  not  permit  any  of  us  to  land.  He 
himself  is  going  ashore  for  some  purpose  which  he  re 
fuses  to  disclose.  He  will  not  return  to  the  yacht  till  to 
morrow.  I  am  dispatching  this  letter  to  the  post  by  the 
sailor  who  is  to  row  Marville  ashore  —  a  sailor  whom  I 
can  trust. —  Farewell ! " 

"  The  last  letter  we  ever  received  from  him,"  mur 
mured  Lorelie,  laying  down  the  missive. 

262 


A  Packet  of  Old  Letters 

The  tone  of  the  final  letters  conveyed  an  impression 
terrible  in  its  suggestiveness  to  her  mind  now  that  by 
means  of  her  hypnotic  experiment  she  had  become  aware 
of  the  tragedy  that  had  taken  place  within  the  interior 
of  Ormfell. 

"  The  Idris  went  down  on  the  evening  of  October 
1 3th,"  she  murmured,  "  and  late  that  same  night  Olave 
Ravengar  returned  to  Ravenhall  after  an  absence  of  ten 
years.  Is  this  a  coincidence,  or  is  the  present  earl  the 
same  person  as  Eric  Marville  ?  Did  my  father  go  down 
with  the  yacht,  or  did  he  escape  the  sea  only  to  fall 
within  the  interior  of  Ormfell  by  the  hand  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  wronged?" 


263 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LORELIE   AT   RAVENHALL 

LORD  WALDEN  was  reading  a  newspaper  one 
afternoon  in  the  quietude  of  his  own  room  at 
Ravenhall,  when  the  step  of  some  person  enter 
ing  the  chamber  unannounced  caused  him  to  look  up, 
and  he  found  Lorelie  standing  before  him. 

"  Hul-lo  ! "  he  muttered,  throwing  down  the  news 
paper,  and  startled  beyond  measure  at  seeing  his  wife  so 
near  his  father's  presence.  "  What  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  To  claim  my  rights,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  Why 
should  the  wife  occupy  a  modest  villa  while  the  husband 
lives  in  castled  state  ?  " 

She  took  off  her  toque  and  mantle,  threw  them  upon 
the  table,  and,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  come  to  stay, 
sat  down  in  an  armchair  opposite  him. 

For  some  moments  Ivar  frowned  darkly  at  his  fair 
young  wife,  and  was  obviously  dismayed  by  her  de^ 
termination. 

When  the  earl,  a  few  weeks  previously,  had  urged 
upon  him  the  necessity  for  marrying  Beatrice,  Ivar  had 
lacked  the  courage  to  confess  that  he  had  a  wife  already, 
knowing  that  the  statement  would  be  certain  to  evoke 
his  father's  anger,  and  Ivar  stood  in  considerable  awe  of 
his  father. 

Accordingly,  he  had  made  a  pretence  of  submission, 
and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  delude  the  earl  with  the  fiction 
that  he  was  paying  successful  court  to  Beatrice.  This 
contemptible  subterfuge  was  not  one  that  could  be  long 
continued  in  any  circumstances  ;  but  Lorelie's  sudden 

264 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

resolve  for  recognition  threatened  to  bring  matters  to  a 
climax  that  very  day. 

"  You  have  come  here  to  create  a  vulgar  scene  before 
all  the  servants,  I  see,"  scowled  Ivar. 

"  I  have  come  here  to  redeem  my  name,"  she  answered 
indignantly.  "  Do  you  know  that  at  the  flower-show 
yesterday  ladies  turned  aside  to  avoid  me,  and  that  I 
caught  the  half-whispered  words,  '  Lord  Walden's  mis 
tress  '  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  return  to  The  Cedars  to  live 
there  under  such  a  name  ?  I  will  keep  silent  no  longer. 
To  day  all  Ormsby  shall  know  that  I  am  Viscountess 
Walden." 

Vainly  did  Ivar  try  to  temporize,  to  persuade,  to  cajole, 
to  threaten.  Lorelie  continued  inflexible. 

"  Take  me  to  your  father,"  she  said.  "  My  maiden 
name  will  compel  him  to  acknowledge  me." 

"  What  is  there  in  the  name  of  Riviere  to  charm  him  ?  " 
asked  Ivar,  in  surprise. 

"  Nothing,  but  much  in  the  name  of  Rochefort,"  she 
answered,  rising  to  her  feet.  "  Will  you  go  with  me, 
or  shall  I  go  alone  to  inform  him  that  I  have  mar 
ried  a  craven  who  lacks  the  spirit  and  courage  to  tell  the 
truth  ?  " 

Ivar  saw  the  necessity  of  yielding.  Looking  with  a 
very  ill  grace  at  his  wife  he  touched  a  hand-bell  on  the 
table. 

"  Where  is  the  earl  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  footman,  who 
appeared  in  answer  to  the  summons. 

"  His  lordship  is  taking  the  air  on  the  western  terrace," 
was  the  reply. 

The  viscount  rose  and  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
said  terrace  accompanied  by  his  wife,  while  the  footman 
stared  curiously  after  them. 

Lorelie  had  come  to  Ravenhall  for  the  purpose  of 
verifying,  if  possible,  the  strange  suspicion  she  had  of 

265 


The  Viking's  Skull 

late  begun  to  entertain  that  the  present  Earl  of  Ormsby 
was  none  other  than  Eric  Marville.  If  this  surmise  were 
correct,  it  behoved  her  to  make  known  to  him  the  truth 
concerning  the  murder  of  Duchesne.  But  of  what  avail 
was  it  to  clear  the  character  of  Eric  Marville  from  the 
guilt  of  the  long-past  crime,  if  her  other  suspicion  should 
prove  true  that  he  was  the  slayer  of  her  father  ?  She  was 
precluded  from  denouncing  him  for  this  latter  deed  by 
reason  of  her  position  as  his  daughter-in-law,  and  by  the 
thought  that  Captain  Rochefort,  in  falling  by  the  hand  of 
the  man  whom  he  had  wronged,  had  met  with  a  justly 
merited  doom. 

If  the  earl  were  really  Eric  Marville,  it  followed  that 
Idris,  as  his  elder  son,  was  being  unjustly  deprived  of  his 
rights  by  the  younger  half-brother  Ivar. 

Ignorant  of  the  causes  that  had  contributed  to  render 
Idris  an  object  of  aversion  to  the  earl,  Lorelie,  neverthe 
less,  determined  to  compel  the  earl  to  acknowledge 
him.  Thus  much  justice  should  at  least  be  done.  And 
in  coming  to  this  resolve  Lorelie  tried  to  persuade 
herself  that  she  was  actuated  simply  by  the  desire  for 
justice,  whereas  her  heart  more  truly  told  her  that  secret 
love  for  Idris  was  her  controlling  motive. 

On  reaching  the  western  terrace  they  found  the  earl 
standing  at  one  end  of  it  with  his  back  towards  them. 
He  had  just  come  from  the  library  after  a  long  spell  of 
study,  and  was  now  refreshing  his  tired  eyes  by  a  con 
templation  of  the  lawns  and  the  woods  that  surrounded 
his  castellated  mansion. 

On  hearing  footsteps  he  turned,  and  his  cold  grey  eyes 
lighted  upon  Lorelie  :  not,  however,  for  the  first  time, 
since  her  pew  in  St.  Oswald's  Church  faced  his  own ;  but 
beyond  the  fact  that  she  was  called  Mademoiselle  Riviere 
he  knew  nothing  whatever  respecting  her,  and,  it  may  be 
added,  had  no  desire  to  know  more. 

266 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

He  supposed  that  Ivar  had  been  showing  her  over  his 
historic  mansion,  portions  of  which  were  open  to  the 
public  on  certain  days.  But  this  western  terrace  was 
private  ground,  reserved  for  the  family.  What  did  Ivar 
mean  by  bringing  this  young  lady  to  him,  who  had  no 
desire  for  an  introduction  ?  With  something  like  a  frown 
upon  his  face  he  awaited  their  approach. 

Could  this  cold  and  dignified  peer  of  the  realm,  thought 
Lorelie,  be  the  man  who,  twenty-three  years  before,  had 
escaped  from  a  felon's  cell  in  Brittany  ?  Was  this  really 
the  father  of  Idris  ?  It  seemed  too  strange  to  be  true. 
Was  his  the  face  that  Beatrice  in  her  hypnotic  trance  had 
seen  peering  into  the  Viking's  tomb  ?  A  chilling  sen 
sation  seized  her  as  Ivar  escorted  her  towards  the  presence 
of  the  man  whom  she  believed  to  be  her  father's  mur 
derer. 

Lord  Ormsby  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Mademoiselle  Riviere,  I  believe,"  he  said,  bowing 
stiffly. 

"  Not  so,  my  lord." 

"  No  ?  "  queried  the  earl. 

"  No  ! "  she  replied  with  a  smile  that  annoyed  him.  As 
if  it  mattered  to  him  who  she  was  ! 

"  Hum,  some  mistake.  What  name,  then,  may  I 
ask ?" 

"  Viscountess  Walden,  my  lord,"  she  replied,  with  an 
air  as  stately  as  his  own. 

For  a  few  moments  the  earl's  surprise  was  too  great  for 
words.  He  sank  upon  a  stone  seat,  and  stared  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  You  hear  what  this  woman  says,"  he  remarked  in  a 
harsh  voice,  turning  to  his  son.  "  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  We  are  married  —  yes,"  returned  Ivar,  sullenly. 

"  You  have  given  me  to  understand,"  continued  the 
earl,  "  that  you  were  paying  your  addresses  to  Beatrice." 

267 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Father,  listen  to  me,"  muttered  Ivar.  "  I  was  already 
married  at  the  time  when  you  pressed  Beatrice's  name 
upon  me,  and  seeing  how  earnestly  you  were  set  upon 
the  match  I  —  I  lacked  the  courage  to  —  to  state  the 
truth." 

Lorelie  heard  her  husband's  words  with  secret  con 
tempt.  The  craven  was  almost  apologizing  for  marrying 
her !  With  an  effort  she  controlled  her  feelings,  and  re 
mained  silent. 

Casting  a  contemptuous  glance  at  his  son  the  earl 
turned,  and  with  a  coldly  critical  eye  surveyed  his  new 
daughter-in-law.  Yes,  she  was  undeniably  beautiful,  with 
an  exquisite  taste  in  dress ;  and  bore  herself  with  the  air 
and  dignity  of  a  princess ;  clearly  an  ornament  to  Raven- 
hall,  provided  only  that  her  antecedents  were  above  the 
criticism  of  Society. 

"  And  who  and  whence  is  the  lady  that  now  bears 
Viscount  Walden's  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  name  is  Lorelie,  nee  Rochefort." 

"  RocJiefort  ?  "  repeated  the  earl,  with  a  sharp  intona 
tion  on  the  word. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Captain  Noel  Rochefort,  of 
Nantes." 

The  earl's  sudden  start  did  not  escape  her  attentive 
eyes.  It  seemed  to  give  confirmation  to  her  suspicion. 

"  Your  lordship  has  perhaps  heard  of  him  ?  His  is  a 
notable  name." 

"  No.  Yes.  That  is  to  say,"  replied  the  earl  in  some 
confusion,  "  unless  my  memory  is  at  fault,  some  one  of 
that  name  figured  prominently  in  the  French  newspapers 
about  twenty-three  years  ago.  Did  your  father  aid  in 
the  escape  of  a  certain  prisoner  from  Valagenet  ?  " 

"  Your  lordship  has  an  excellent  memory." 

"  I  was  in  Brittany  at  the  time  of  the  escape,  and  the 
story  was  in  everybody's  mouth.  The  name  of  the 

268 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

prisoner  was  —  was,"  pursued  the  earl,  with  the  air  of 
one  striving  to  recall  a  forgotten  fact, "  was  Eric  Marville, 
I  think." 

"  I  must  again  commend  your  lordship's  memory." 

"  Of  what  crime  was  this  Marville  found  guilty?" 

"  He  was  accused  of  murder." 

"  Murder.  Ay  !  so  it  was.  I  remember  now,"  replied 
the  earl  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

Few  could  have  surmised  from  his  manner  that  in  re 
calling  the  name  of  Eric  Marville  he  was,  in  reality, 
speaking  of  himself,  and  Lorelie  found  herself  in  a  state 
of  doubt  again. 

"  Your  father,"  continued  the  earl,  "  was  a  great  friend 
of  this  Marville,  otherwise  he  would  not  have  planned 
and  carried  out  this  rescue-plot  ?  " 

"  We  may  presume  that  he  was." 

The  earl's  conduct  would  certainly  have  seemed  singular 
to  an  ordinary  by-stander.  The  lady  before  him  was 
waiting  for  recognition  as  his  daughter-in-law,  but  neg 
lecting  that  as  a  matter  of  no  consequence,  he  was 
interesting  himself  in  events  that  had  happened  more 
than  twenty  years  before.  Lorelie  found  her  suspicion 
returning. 

"  Do  you  know  what  ultimately  became  of  this  Mar 
ville  —  I  mean  of  your  father,  or  rather  of  both  of 
them  ?  " 

"  They  went  yachting  together  in  '76,  and  their  vessel 
went  down  in  Ormsby  Race." 

"  So  near  our  own  doors  ?  Strange  !  Then  this  Mar 
ville  was  drowned  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  not." 

"  Ay !  and  what  is  your  reason  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  do  you  ask  that  ?  "  she  answered  with  signi 
ficant  intonation. 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 
269 


The  Viking's  Skull 

But  he  did  not  press  for  her  meaning ;  Lorelie  marked 
that.  And  there  was  an  interval  of  silence  ere  he  re 
sumed  his  catechism. 

"  Your  father,  Captain  Rochefort —  was  he  drowned  ?  " 

"  I  have  reasons  —  very  strong  reasons  —  for  believing 
that  he  escaped  the  fury  of  the  sea,  only  to  be  murdered." 

While  speaking  she  kept  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  earl's 
face  to  mark  the  effect  of  her  words.  Unless  she  was 
mistaken  there  was  in  his  eyes  something  very  like  the 
light  of  fear. 

"Murdered?"  he  said.  "What  leads  you  to  this 
strange  belief?" 

"  With  your  lordship's  permission  I  will  reserve  my 
reasons  for  another  time.  —  You  have  not  yet  said,"  she 
added  quietly,  "  whether  you  acknowledge  me." 

"  You  are  my  son's  wife,  and,  therefore,  my  daughter. 
Welcome  to  Ravenhall !  " 

Rising  from  his  seat  he  approached  and  kissed  her. 
And  at  this  seal  of  recognition  Ivar  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief.  The  trying  ordeal  was  over,  and  it  had  not  ended, 
as  he  had  fancied  that  it  might,  in  his  enforced  retirement 
from  Ravenhall. 

When  the  earl  touched  Lorelie's  cheek  with  his  lips  he 
found  her  skin  as  cold  as  marble.  She  had  submitted  to 
the  act,  not  knowing  how  to  repulse  it;  but  —  kissed  by 
her  father's  murderer !  To  receive  such  a  kiss  seemed  to 
her  mind  like  a  condonation  of  the  crime  —  a  purchase 
of  her  position  at  the  price  of  her  father's  blood. 

She  grew  faint.  Why  was  she  placing  herself  in  a 
position  where  day  by  day  she  would  encounter  the  pres 
ence  of  this  terrible  earl  ?  for  to  her  he  was  terrible.  A 
great  longing  came  upon  her  to  go  back  to  The  Cedars ; 
but  the  thought  of  Idris  calmed  her.  For  his  sake  she 
would  stay.  Her  belief  that  he  was  the  rightful  heir  of 
Ravenhall  was,  after  all,  a  matter  of  conjecture,  not  of 

270 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

knowledge :  she  must  have  proofs  before  telling  him 
of  her  opinion  :  and,  in  her  judgment,  such  proofs  would 
be  found  at  Ravenhall. 

Hating  herself  for  the  hypocrisy  she  masked  her  feel 
ings  with  a  smile  and  endeavoured  to  appear  gratified 
with  her  new  position. 

Learning  that  Lorelie  had  not  yet  seen  the  interior  of 
Ravenhall  the  earl,  as  if  wishful  to  conciliate  her,  under 
took  to  conduct  her  over  the  mansion. 

He  escorted  his  new  daughter-in-law  through  the  finer 
parts  of  the  castle,  pointing  out  the  various  treasures  con 
tained  within  its  walls  :  but  though  he  talked  much  dur 
ing  this  tour  of  inspection  Lorelie  was  conscious  all  the 
time  of  being  furtively  scanned  by  him,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  fathom  her  character  and  aims  :  and  the  belief 
was  borne  in  upon  her  mind  that  she  was  the  object  of 
his  suspicion  and  fear. 

He  bade  her  select  as  her  own  whatever  apartments 
might  take  her  fancy,  and  introduced  her  to  the  house 
keeper,  telling  the  latter  that,  as  regarded  the  domestic 
arrangements  of  Ravenhall,  she  must  now  receive  her 
orders  from  the  new  viscountess.  Then,  having  rendered 
these  honours,  the  earl  went  back  to  his  library  with  the 
remark  that  they  would  meet  again  at  dinner. 

"  Egad,  we're  in  luck's  way ! "  exclaimed  the  delighted 
Ivar.  "  Who'd  have  thought  the  old  boy  would  prove  so 
gracious  ?  But  why  have  you  always  kept  it  a  secret 
from  me  that  you  are  Captain  Rochefort's  daughter  ? " 
He  gave  Lorelie  no  time  to  reply,  for,  suddenly  struck 
by  a  new  thought,  he  continued,  "  O,  by  the  way,  just  a 
hint,  lest  you  should  unwittingly  betray  a  secret  of  mine. 
Don't  let  the  governor  ever  know  that  I  have  given  you 
a  golden  vase." 

"  Very  well,  Ivar.  But  may  I  ask  your  reason  for  this 
caution  ?  " 

2/1 


The  Viking's  Skull 

The  viscount  tugged  the  ends  of  his  light  moustache 
with  a  shamefacedness  very  unusual  in  him. 

"  Hum !  ah  !  well !  I  suppose  I  had  better  speak  the 
truth.  The  fact  is  I've  had  to  forestall  my  future  herit 
age  by  appropriating  some  pieces  of  the  family  plate." 

"  Appropriating  !     That  is  a  good  word,  Ivar." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like.  It  was  necessitated  by  the  ex 
pense  of  keeping  a  wife.  Your  tastes  are  costly.  Pic 
tures,  works  of  art,  rare  furniture,  rich  dresses  are  the 
breath  of  life  to  you.  Deny  it  if  you  can.  I  was  obliged 
to  resort  to  some  expedient  in  order  to  satisfy  your  ex 
travagance.  That  vase  was  one  of  my  —  er  —  appropri- 
ations.  I  gave  it  to  you  to  convert  into  cash,  but  you 
seem  to  prefer  keeping  it." 

"  And  so  the  money  you  have  given  me  during  the 
past  few  months  has  come  from  the  sale  of  this  plate  ?  " 

Ivar  nodded  assent. 

"  Was  this  plate  contained  in  the  jewel-room  through 
which  the  earl  has  just  taken  us  ?  " 

"  O,  dear  no !  The  store  I  refer  to  is  far  too  valuable 
and  tempting  to  be  exposed  to  the  eyes  of  even  the  old 
est  and  most  trusted  of  our  family  servants  —  at  least, 
that's  the  governor's  opinion.  He  is  somewhat  eccentric, 
you  know.  So  he  keeps  this  treasure  to  himself  in  a 
secret  place." 

Lorelie  did  not  ask  Ivar  to  name  this  secret  place :  she 
had  her  own  opinion  as  to  the  locality,  and  would  not 
have  believed  Ivar  if  he  had  declared  it  to  be  elsewhere. 

"  Your  father  inspects  these  treasures  occasionally,  I 
presume  ?  " 

"  Of  course  —  with  the  joy  of  an  old  miser." 

"  And  he  keeps  a  catalogue  of  them  ?  " 

"  You  bet  he  does  !  " 

"  Then  how  have  you  contrived  to  keep  your  appropri 
ations  undiscovered?" 

272 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

A  look  of  low  conceit  and  cunning  overspread  the 
face  of  the  viscount. 

"  Ah  !  that's  my  secret.  The  governor  thinks  he  still 
possesses  the  missing  plate.  It's  there  before  his  eyes, 
and  yet  it  isn't  there.  He  sees  it,  and  yet  he  doesn't  see 
it.  He's  an  artful  fellow,  the  old  boy  !  But  for  once  he's 
been  outwitted.  You  don't  understand.  Some  day  I'll 
explain  my  meaning.  Meantime,  remember,  mum's  the 
word  on  this  business." 

And  here  Ivar  went  off  to  inspect  a  new  hunter  that 
had  just  arrived,  while  Lorelie  turned  away  with  a  look 
of  unspeakable  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"  So  the  Viking's  treasure  found  its  way  to  Ravenhall," 
she  murmured.  "  And  by  whose  hand  it  is  clear.  The 
price  of  my  father's  blood !  My  God !  to  think  that  I 
have  been  living  on  money  derived  from  such  a  source ! " 

That  same  evening  at  sunset  Lorelie  sat  alone  on  the 
grand  terrace  overlooking  the  undulating  landscape  that 
surrounded  Ravenhall.  Behind  her  rose  the  ivied  man 
sion  with  its  fine  halls  and  treasures  of  art.  Roses,  glow 
ing  in  sculptured  vases  along  the  terrace,  filled  the  air 
with  their  sweetness.  Marble  fountains  flashed  aloft  their 
silvery  spray.  Below,  in  front  of  her,  green  lawns  and 
woodlands  stretched  away  to  the  margin  of  a  shimmer 
ing  lake  —  all  bathed  in  the  dusky  golden  glow  of 
sunset. 

This  day  should  have  been  one  of  the  proudest  of  her 
life.  She  had  received  recognition  from  the  earl,  and 
was  now  an  acknowledged  wife,  a  peeress,  and  the  des 
tined  queen  of  the  county-side. 

While  living  at  The  Cedars  she  had  been  slighted  by 
some  of  the  society  of  Ormsby,  and  had  been  cruelly  tra 
duced  by  others;  how  great,  then,  would  be  the  mortifica 
tion  of  her  enemies  to  learn  that  the  person  whom  they 
had  contemned  held  the  proud  rank  of  Viscountess 
18 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Walden !  They  would  be  but  too  willing  now  to  efface 
the  past  and  do  her  homage ;  for,  to  be  on  visiting  terms 
at  Ravenhall  was  the  ambition  of  all  the  elite  of  Ormsby. 
What  a  triumph  for  her !  Youth  and  beauty,  rank  and 
wealth  —  all  were  hers  ! 

That  was  one  side  of  the  medal ;  how  different  the  re 
verse  ! 

Her  father  was  a  murderer;  her  father-in-law  was  a 
murderer;  her  husband  was,  in  his  own  language,  an 
"  appropriator,"  or,  in  other  words,  a  thief:  and  she  her 
self  was  but  a  spy  at  Ravenhall,  seeking  for  proofs  to  de 
prive  him  of  his  prospective  wealth  and  title !  Even  now 
he  manifested  indifference  to  her :  what  would  be  his  feel 
ings  if,  through  her  instrumentality,  Idris  Breakspear 
should  succeed  to  the  coronet  of  the  Ravengars  ? 

Whether  she  spoke  out,  or  whether  she  remained  mute, 
a  melancholy  future  lay  before  her.  On  the  one  hand 
splendour  purchased  at  the  price  of  injustice  to  Idris  :  on 
the  other  the  lifelong  hatred  of  her  husband  for  prefer 
ring  the  interests  of  Idris  to  his  own. 

The  voice  of  Ivar  jarred  upon  her  meditations.  He 
was  lounging  along  the  terrace  smoking  the  inevitable 
cigarette. 

"  My  lady  doesn't  seem  very  happy  now  that  she 
dwells  '  in  marble  halls,  with  vassals  and  serfs  by  her  side.1 
Look  around  you,"  he  continued,  with  a  sweep  of  his 
arm  that  took  in  the  whole  landscape.  "  As  far  as  you 
can  see,  north,  east,  south,  and  west,  all  is  ours.  Isn't 
the  prospect  fair  enough  for  you  ?  " 

"  As  fair  as  the  Dead  Sea  fruit  —  all  ashes  to  the 
taste." 

She  lifted  her  head,  and  he  saw  that  her  face  was  pale, 
that  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears,  that  her  expression 
was  one  of  unutterable  melancholy. 

"  Why  the  devil  did  you  come  here,  if  you  don't  like 
274 


Lorelie  at  Ravenhall 

it  ?  Upon  my  word  you  are  hard  to  please !  Is  this 
your  gratitude  to  the  pater  for  his  gracious  reception  of 
you ! " 

"  To  be  called  '  Viscountess  Walden/  and  '  Your  lady 
ship/  "  she  murmured  to  herself,  "  knowing  all  the  time 
that  I  am  listening  to  a  lie  !  " 

Ivar  started,  but  made  no  reply.  He  lounged  off  to 
the  end  of  the  terrace,  where  he  stood  watching  his  wife 
with  a  dark  expression  on  his  face. 

"  Got  a  fit  of  the  blues  on  ! "  he  muttered.  "  Think 
ing  of  Breakspear,  and  how  hard  it  is  he  should  be  kept 
from  his  own,  and  so  forth.  By  God  !  supposing  she  lets 
her  craze  for  that  fellow  carry  her  to  the  extreme  of  de 
claring  the  truth  !  She  loves  him,  and  a  woman  in  love 
will  commit  any  folly.  She's  not  to  be  trusted." 

While  he  was  occupied  with  these  uneasy  reflections  a 
footman  appeared,  carrying  on  a  silver  salver  a  letter  ad 
dressed  to  the  viscount. 

Ivar  gave  a  start  when  he  perceived  the  handwriting 
on  the  envelope,  and  ere  opening  it  cast  a  glance  at  the 
distant  Lorelie. 

The  note  was  a  sweet-scented  one,  signed  "  Lilias 
Winter,"  and  contained  a  request  for  a  subscription  to  a 
local  charity,  at  least  so  the  simple-minded  would  have 
read  it,  but  to  Ivar  it  conveyed  a  very  different  meaning. 
Interpreted  by  a  prearranged  code  the  note  signified  that 
on  the  part  of  the  sender  circumstances  were  favourable 
that  night  for  receiving  a  visit  from  the  viscount.  For 
Ivar,  with  a  perversity  of  taste,  not  uncommon  in  the 
immoral,  found  more  pleasure  in  carrying  on  an  intrigue 
with  a  widow  of  forty  than  in  cultivating  the  society  of 
his  fair  young  wife. 

A  few  days  previously,  when  ignorant  of  the  existence 
of  Idris,  the  viscount  would  have  laughed  in  Lorelie's 
face  had  she  reproached  him  with  this  amour. 

275 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Now  he  suddenly  became  conscious  that  this  intrigue 
was  no  laughing  matter. 

His  succession  to  the  title  and  estates  depended  on  his 
wife's  good  will.  Any  act  on  his  part  tending  to  pro 
voke  her  might  end  in  his  ruin.  When  the  handsome 
widow,  who  had  entertained  hopes  herself  of  one  day  be 
coming  Viscountess  Walden,  should  learn  of  Ivar's  mar 
riage,  disappointment  and  jealousy  might  prompt  her  to 

reveal  this  amour  to  Lorelie.     And  then ?     Ill  usage 

from  her  husband  Lorelie  might  tolerate,  but  infidelity, 
never !  Goaded  by  such  an  outrage  she  would  fling  his 
interests  to  the  winds,  and  make  it  known  that  Idris  was 
the  rightful  heir  of  Ravenhall. 

"  No  help  for  it,"  muttered  Ivar.  "  I  must  tell  the 
governor  at  once,  and  tell  him  all  without  disguise ;  that 
Idris  Marville  is  not  only  alive,  but  dwelling  here  to-day 
at  Ormsby ;  that  Lorelie  suspects  who  he  is,  and  that 
Lilias  will  have  to  be  bribed  into  silence,  otherwise  she 
will  create  a  scandal  of  which  Lorelie  will  avail  herself  to 
our  confusion  and  ruin.  Breakspear  at  present  is  igno 
rant  of  his  lineage ;  something  must  be  done  to  prevent 
him  from  ever  learning  it  —  but  what  ?  " 

$  $  $  $  $  $ 

The  lights  in  the  library  at  Ravenhall  burned  till  a  late 
hour  that  night,  or  rather  they  were  continued  till  far  into 
the  morning. 

The  sleep  of  the  new  viscountess  in  her  distant  bed 
chamber  was  fitful  and  troubled,  but  there  would  have 
been  no  sleep  at  all  for  her  could  she  have  known  the 
character  of  the  conversation  taking  place  in  the  library 
between  the  Ravengars,  father  and  son. 


276 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    SECRET    OF    THE    FUNERAL    CRYPT 

ON  the  day  following  her  recognition  at  Raven- 
hall  Lorelie  sat  at  luncheon  with  the  earl  and 
the  viscount.  The  servants  had  retired,  leaving 
them  free  to  indulge  in  private  conversation. 

"  To  my  fair  daughter-in-law,"  said  the  earl,  touching 
his  glass  with  his  lips  and  bowing  to  Lorelie,  who  re 
turned  the  greeting  but  coldly.  The  space  of  twenty- 
four  hours  had  not  reconciled  her  any  the  more  to  his 
presence. 

"  Do  you  know  that  old  Lanfranc  is  dead?"  remarked 
Ivar,  addressing  his  father. 

"  No.     Where  did  you  learn  that  ?  " 

"  Saw  it  just  now  in  the  obituary  column  of  the 
Times" 

"  May  one  ask  who  Lanfranc  is  ?  "  said  Lorelie. 

"  Sir  George  Lanfranc,"  replied  the  earl,  "  is " 

"  Was,"  corrected  Ivar. 

"  Our  family  solicitor,"  continued  the  earl,  with  a 
frown  —  he  hated  to  be  corrected  — "  and  one  of  the 
privileged  four  admitted  to  the  knowledge  of  our  secret 
funeral  vault." 

"  The  other  three  being ?  "  queried  Lorelie. 

"  Ivar  and  I,  as  a  matter  of  course  :  and  the  Rector  of 
Ormsby." 

"  I  think  I  could  name  a  fifth,"  murmured  Lorelie  to 
herself. 

For,  on  the  day  prior  to  her  coming  to  Ravenhall  she 
had  chanced  to  meet  with  Godfrey,  and,  moved  by  a 

277 


The  Viking's  Skull 

sudden  impulse,  he  had  told  her  how  he  had  followed 
Ivar  to  the  crypt  and  what  had  happened  there,  not 
omitting  Lord  Walden's  utterance  that  it  was  done  on 
Lorelie's  account.  The  story  was  a  complete  revelation 
to  her,  and,  while  thanking  Godfrey  for  his  communica 
tion,  she  determined  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the 
strange  affair  with  which  Ivar  had  associated  her  name. 

O 

A  favourable  opportunity  seemed  now  to  present  itself, 
and  she  resolved  to  essay  a  bold  stroke. 

"  We  shall  have  to  choose  some  one  to  supply  Lan- 
franc's  place,"  said  the  earl,  turning  to  his  son. 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  myself,"  suggested  Lorelie. 

Lord  Ormsby  raised  his  eyebrows  in  manifest  sur 
prise. 

"  Ladies  have  never  been  admitted  to  that  vault,"  he 
replied.  "  In  that  respect  it  resembles  the  Baptist's 
Chapel  in  the  Genoese  Cathedral." 

"  But  that  chapel  is  open  to  ladies  on  one  day  in  the 
year,"  replied  Lorelie.  "  Therefore,  your  parallel  will 
not  hold." 

"  Are  you  really  serious  in  making  this  suggestion  ?  " 
asked  the  earl. 

"  Perfectly." 

"  What  is  your  reason  ?  " 

Lorelie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  You  don't  require  reason  from  a  woman,"  she  re 
plied.  "  It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  give  my  reason. 
Curiosity,  mainly  :  the  desire  of  seeing  what  no  other 
woman  has  seen,  or  ever  will  see." 

"  The  initiated  have  to  swear  an  oath  to  keep  the 
secret,"  said  Ivar. 

"  That  gives  quite  a  romantic  charm  to  the  adventure," 
Lorelie  replied. 

The  earl  sat  silent  for  a  moment  as  if  weighing  the 
matter,  and  then  cast  at  his  son  a  look  which  seemed  to 

278 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

convey  a  silent  suggestion,  a  suggestion  that  appeared  to 
meet  with  tacit  acceptance  from  the  other. 

"  There  is  really  no  reason  why  we  should  not  admit 
you  to  the  vault,"  he  remarked.  "  Better  one  of  the  fam 
ily  than  an  outsider.  And  you  are  one  of  us  now,"  he 
added  with  a  sigh,  as  though  the  fact  were  much  to  be  re 
gretted.  "  You  shall  be  one  of  the  privileged  four,  if  you 
desire  it.  When  would  you  like  to  pay  your  first  visit?  " 

"  Why  not  now  ?  "  she  asked  impulsively,  rising  from 
her  seat  as  she  spoke. 

"  Humph  !  "  replied  the  earl,  thoughtfully.  "  Suppose 
we  say  to-night.  The  late  hour  will  enable  us  the  better 
to  escape  the  prying  eyes  of  the  servants.  You  consent  ? 
Good  !  Then  we  will  meet  in  this  dining-hall  a  little  be 
fore  twelve  to-night.  But  —  not  a  whisper  of  this  to  any 
one.  Let  the  matter  be  kept  secret." 

Lorelie  rose  and  sought  the  retirement  of  her  own 
room,  not  without  wonder  that  the  earl  should  accept  her 
strange  proposal  almost  as  soon  as  he  heard  it.  Then, 
as  she  recalled  the  curious  look  he  had  cast  at  Ivar,  to 
gether  with  his  injunction  to  observe  secrecy  respecting 
the  intended  visit,  there  swept  over  her  a  sudden  wave 
of  cold  feeling  induced  by  a  thought  so  dreadful  that  she 
could  scarcely  bring  herself  to  entertain  it.  But  the  idea 
would  persist  in  stamping  itself  in  letters  of  fire  upon  her 
mind. 

"  I  know  he  hates  me  !  "  she  gasped.  "  I  saw  that  in 
his  eyes  when  he  first  heard  my  name.  I  know  he  hates 
me,  but  —  my  God  !  to  such  an  extent  as  that!  Is  he 
afraid  that  the  daughter  will  seek  to  avenge  her  father  ? 
And  will  he  get  Ivar  to  consent  ?  " 

While  she  was  occupied  with  these  terrible  misgivings 
her  husband  came  slouching  in.  He  seated  himself  on 
a  chair  and  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  a  strange 
expression  that  set  her  trembling. 

279 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  So  you've  quite  made  up  your  mind  to  visit  the 
vault  ?  " 

She  assented  with  a  nod,  not  daring  to  trust  herself  to 
speak.  Her  heart  was  beating  like  a  steam-hammer ; 
faint  murmurs  were  ringing  in  her  ears ;  she  seemed  to 
see  Ivar  as  through  a  mist. 

"  Bah  !  you  lack  the  courage.  You  will  be  crying  off 
from  the  venture  before  the  night  comes." 

His  sneer  roused  her  spirit,  and  she  spoke  in  a  low 
tone,  striving  to  control  the  tremors  of  her  voice. 

"  I  will  not  cry  off:  no,"  she  added,  emphasizing  her 
words,  as  if  to  fix  his  attention,  "  not  if  it  should  end  in 
my  death." 

Ivar  started  and  glanced  suspiciously  at  her. 

Suddenly  Lorelie  rose,  and  walking  to  an  oak-press 
produced  a  small  piece  of  faded  black  velvet  fringed  on 
one  edge  with  silver  lace.  Sitting  down  with  needle  and 
thread  she  proceeded  with  deft  fingers  to  manipulate  this 
velvet  into  a  sort  of  ornamental  bow,  without  cutting  the 
fabric  or  in  any  way  diminishing  its  original  size. 

Her  husband  moodily  watched  her,  wondering  why 
she  should  form  a  dress-ornament  from  such  faded  stuff 
and  why  she  should  select  this  particular  juncture  for 
making  it. 

"  What's  that  thing  you  are  making  ?  "  he  asked  in  a 
sullen  voice. 

"  Merely  a  bow,"  she  answered,  extending  the  half-fin 
ished  article  towards  him.  "  Of  what  do  you  suppose 
this  velvet  once  formed  part  ?  " 

"  It  might  have  been  cut  from  a  pall  by  the  look 
of  it." 

"  I  commend  your  discernment.  You  are  not  far 
wrong." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  enlighten  me,"  he  asked,  scowling, 
as  he  noticed  her  air  of  satisfaction  at  his  perplexity. 

280 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  seen  this  velvet  and 
its  parent  fabric,"  said  Lorelie. 

Approaching  a  mirror  she  held  the  bow  against  the 
neck-band  of  her  dress. 

"  I  shall  wear  this  bow  to-night.  True,  it  does  not  look 
very  pretty,  yet  it  may  serve  as  a  talisman,  and " 

But  on  looking  up  she  found  that  Ivar  was  gone.  The 
velvet  dropped  to  the  carpet,  and  she  clasped  her  hands. 

"  They  mean  it,"  she  murmured.  "  I  can  read  it  in 
Ivar's  guilty  manner  —  half-resolve,  half-fear  :  letting  '  I 
dare  not '  wait  upon  '  I  would.'  My  God  !  But  I  will 
go  through  with  it.  I  will  put  their  base  courage  to  the 
test." 

Her  first  fears  had  vanished,  leaving  her  hard  and  firm 
as  steel.  The  spirit  that  loves  danger  for  its  own  sake, 
the  spirit  derived  from  her  Corsican  ancestors,  began  to 
reawake  in  the  breast  of  their  nineteenth -century  de 
scendant. 

At  six  in  the  evening  Lorelie,  who  had  spent  the  after 
noon  in  arranging  her  plan  of  action,  stole  quietly  to  her 
bedroom,  having  told  the  butler  she  would  not  come 
down  to  dinner. 

"  I  must  sleep,"  she  murmured,  "  that  my  faculties  may 
be  fresh  and  unimpaired  for  to-night's  work." 

Her  first  care  was  to  lock  and  bolt  the  door  that  opened 
upon  the  corridor,  and  next  that  communicating  with 
Ivar's  bedroom.  She  paid  considerable  attention  to  these 
doors,  as  well  as  to  the  fastenings  of  the  windows.  A 
traveller  putting  up  for  the  night  at  some  lonely  and 
suspicious  hostelry  could  not  have  shown  more  caution. 
Thus  secured  from  intrusion  she  laid  herself  down,  dressed 
as  she  was,  upon  the  bed.  But  fully  two  hours  elapsed 
ere  she  succeeded  in  falling  asleep. 

When  she  awoke  she  found  herself  shivering  with  cold 
and  in  total  darkness.  For  a  few  moments  she  lay 

281 


The  Viking's  Skull 

dreamily  conscious  that  some  ordeal  awaited  her,  but  un 
able  at  first  to  recall  what  it  was.  Then  memory  revived. 
The  visit  to  the  vault !  Yes  !  that  was  it ;  and  the  thought 
made  her  pulses  quicken. 

She  rose,  procured  a  light,  and  found  that  it  was  close 
upon  midnight. 

"  So  late !  They  will  begin  to  think  that  I  am  not 
coming." 

Fastening  the  velvet  bow  to  the  neck-band  of  her  dress 
she  unlocked  the  chamber-door  and  walked  out  into  the 
corridor.  A  deep  silence  reigned  throughout  the  man 
sion,  a  silence  that  to  her  imagination  had  something  awe 
some  in  it.  It  seemed  like  the  prelude  to  a  tragedy. 
With  a  firm  step  she  descended  the  staircase  and  made 
her  way  to  the  dining-hall,  where  a  murmur  of  voices  told 
her  that  the  earl  and  Ivar  were  awaiting  her. 

Their  conversation  ceased  upon  her  entrance,  and  both 
looked  up,  Ivar  seeming  somewhat  perturbed  in  spirit, 
the  earl  smiling  and  evidently  pleased  that  she  had 
come. 

"  We  were  just  discussing  the  probability  of  your  ap 
pearing,"  said  he.  "  Ivar  was  confident  that  you  would 
cry  off  from  the  business.  And,  certainly,  a  coffin-vault 
is  not  a  very  cheerful  place." 

"  It  is  not  the  dead  one  has  to  fear,"  replied  Lorelie, 
"  but  the  living." 

"  Your  wife  has  more  courage  than  you  gave  her  credit 
for,  Ivar,"  remarked  the  earl  approvingly.  "  If  you  will 
carry  the  lamp  I  will  give  her  my  arm." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Lorelie,  declining  the  proffered 
arm,  "  but  I  can  walk  without  aid." 

They  set  forward  from  the  dining-hall,  the  earl  going 
first,  Ivar  a  model  of  ill-grace  walking  beside  Lorelie. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  glanced  curiously  at  her  from  time 
to  time. 

282 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

The  expedition  was  so  strange,  so  unlike  anything  she 
had  ever  known  before,  that  Lorelie  began  to  wonder 
whether  the  whole  scene  was  not  a  dream.  It  was  diffi 
cult  to  believe  that  the  earl,  so  smiling  and  courteous, 
could  really  entertain  the  black  design  of  which  she 
suspected  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  Picture  Gallery  they  reached  that 
little  lumber-room  which  Godfrey  Rothwell  had  so  long 
hesitated  to  enter  on  that  memorable  night  when  track 
ing  Ivar  to  the  vault.  Making  his  way  to  the  hearth  the 
earl  stood  in  the  wide  space  beneath  the  mantel,  and  lift 
ing  his  hand  within  the  chimney  he  touched  what  Lorelie 
judged  was  a  hidden  spring,  for  his  action  was  immedi 
ately  followed  by  a  faint  creaking  of  pulleys  and  ropes, 
and  then  the  perpendicular  slab  forming  one  side  of  the 
fireplace  began  slowly  to  descend,  revealing  behind  it  an 
empty  space. 

"  The  secret  way  to  our  crypt,"  remarked  the  earl. 

He  passed  through  the  entrance.  Ivar,  who  had  not 
spoken  one  word  since  leaving  the  dining-hall,  followed. 
Lorelie  went  last. 

She  looked  about  her.  The  light  carried  by  Ivar  faintly 
illumined  the  place.  She  was  standing  in  a  narrow  pas 
sage,  paved,  walled,  and  roofed,  with  stone.  Its  length 
could  not  be  ascertained  by  the  eye,  for  it  stretched  away 
indefinitely  in  the  gloom. 

The  earl  began  to  manipulate  the  machinery,  and  the 
stone  slab  slowly  ascended  till  its  lower  end  rested  upon 
the  hearth  again.  Lorelie,  attentive  to  his  action,  grasped 
with  quick  eye  the  principle  of  the  mechanism.  Such 
knowledge  would  be  useful  in  the  event  of  her  having  to 
return  alone. 

All  communication  with  the  outer  world  was  now  cut 
off.  She  was  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  two  men, 
and  though  this  was  only  what  she  had  foreseen,  yet  none 

283 


The  Viking's  Skull 

the  less  the  sudden  realization  of  the  fact  caused  a  certain 
chilling  of  her  high  courage. 

The  order  of  their  march  was  now  changed  :  they 
walked  abreast :  Lorelie  in  the  centre,  the  earl  on  her 
right,  Ivar,  still  silent,  on  her  left. 

Though  apparently  staring  about  with  interest  and 
curiosity  Lorelie  in  reality  never  took  her  eyes  from  the 
earl.  It  might  have  been  simply  the  effect  of  the  flicker 
ing  light,  but  in  her  opinion  his  face  had  an  exultant  and 
sinister  expression.  She  became  more  than  ever  on  her 
guard,  and  any  sudden  movement  on  his  part  caused  her 
right  hand  to  seek  her  dress  pocket  in  which  a  loaded  re 
volver  lay  concealed. 

A  steep  descent  of  stone  steps  now  yawned  in  front  of 
them.  With  her  left  hand  Lorelie  drew  her  dainty  skirts 
around  her,  and  glanced  in  disgust  at  the  black  slimy  ooze 
and  the  patches  of  fungous  growth. 

"  These  stairs  look  slippery,"  she  murmured. 

"  A  former  lord  of  Ormsby  broke  his  neck  down  these 
very  steps,"  remarked  the  earl. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  imitate  his  feat,"  said  Lorelie,  draw 
ing  back  a  little.  "  Do  you  go  first.  If  I  slip  I  shall  be 
but  a  light  weight,  whereas  if  you  should  fall  upon  me," 
she  added,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  "  there  is  no 
knowing  what  might  happen." 

The  earl  gave  her  a  suspicious  look  as  if  detecting  a 
hidden  meaning  in  her  words  :  then,  compliant  with  her 
wish,  he  led  the  way  down  the  steps.  Lorelie  came  last, 
feeling  more  at  ease  in  being  at  the  rear. 

The  stairs  terminated  in  the  flagged  flooring  of  another 
long  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  was  the  crypt. 

As  Lorelie  entered  she  could  not  repress  a  shiver,  the 
atmosphere  of  the  place  striking  her  senses  with  a  damp 
chilling  effect. 

Ivar,  by  aid  of  the  light  he  had  carried,  proceeded  to 
284 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral   Crypt 

kindle  the  lamp  pendent  from  the  roof,  and  every  object 
in  the  chamber  became  clearly  visible. 

At  a  glance  Lorelie  took  in  the  whole -scene — the 
octagonal  crypt,  the  black  velvet  curtains  draping  the 
alcoves,  the  massive  oak  table,  and  the  four  antique 
carved  chairs  :  everything  just  as  Godfrey  had  described 
it. 

As  her  eye  fell  upon  the  silver  lace  edging  the  lower 
end  of  a  curtain  adjacent  to  the  door,  her  face  expressed 
satisfaction,  a  satisfaction  that  became  instantly  lost  in  a 
very  different  feeling  :  for  there,  on  the  floor  by  one  of  the 
alcoves,  was  a  chest  of  cypress  wood,  an  object  she  readily 
identified  as  the  reliquary  that  had  figured  so  con 
spicuously  in  Godfrey's  narration.  The  lid  stood  erect 
and  she  noticed  that  the  contents  consisted  of  a  whitish 
powder. 

"  Quicklime  I "  she  murmured  with  a  cold  thrill. 

Becoming  doubly  vigilant  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
chairs  and  prepared  herself  for  emergencies. 

On  the  table  stood  a  decanter  partly  filled  with  wine, 
and  beside  it  some  glasses.  Observant  of  everything 
Lorelie  saw  that  though  the  smooth  surface  of  the  table 
was  overlaid  with  a  coating  of  dust,  the  display  of  glass 
exhibited  not  a  trace  of  it ;  evidently  the  wine  was  of 
recent  introduction  —  perhaps  placed  there  specially  for 
her  use. 

"  What !  you  have  wine  here  ?  Pour  me  out  a  glass, 
Ivar." 

Speaking  in  the  tone  of  a  woman  who  suspects  noth 
ing  she  reclined  in  her  seat  in  a  graceful  attitude,  ex 
tending  a  glass  towards  Ivar,  and  watching  him  keenly 
from  beneath  the  lashes  of  her  half-closed  eyes.  Her 
husband,  his  face  as  white  as  a  ghost's,  filled  her  glass, 
and  setting  down  the  decanter,  breathed  hard.  The  earl 
looked  on  with  seeming  indifference. 

285 


The  Viking's  Skull 

With  steady  motion  Lorelie  lifted  the  glass,  taking  a 
longer  time  over  the  action  than  was  necessary,  as  if  even 
the  foretaste  of  drinking  were  a  pleasure  not  to  be 
curtailed.  Ivar  was  watching  her  with  an  expression  the 
like  of  which  she  had  never  before  seen  on  his  face. 

Her  lips  touched  the  edge  of  the  glass,  and  there 
rested  a  moment :  and  then,  without  having  tasted  the 
wine,  she  raised  the  glass  and  held  it  between  her  half- 
closed  eyes  and  the  lamp  above,  an  action  that  displayed 
to  the  full  the  beauty  of  her  rounded  arm  and  bust. 

"  How  bright  and  clear  it  is !  "  she  murmured,  in  a 
softly  modulated  voice.  "  By  the  way,"  she  added, 
suddenly  opening  her  eyes  wide,  "  what  wine  do  you 
call  this  ?  " 

"  A  choice  vintage.  Malvazia,  one  of  the  rarest  of  the 
Madeiras,"  replied  the  earl. 

Lorelie  lowered  the  glass  quickly,  in  real  or  feigned 
disappointment. 

"  0-oh  !  "  she  murmured,  pouting.  "A  pity  —  that! 
I  cannot  bear  Malvazia  :  it  always  gives  me  the  headache. 
I  must  refrain  from  drinking. — And  yet,"  she  added, 
inhaling  the  fragrance,  "  the  bouquet  is  tempting." 

She  toyed  a  moment  or  two  with  the  glass,  as  if  about 
to  drink,  but  finally  set  it  down  upon  the  table,  glancing 
at  the  two  men  with  a  silvery  laugh.  Her  radiant  air 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  sombre  spirit  which  seemed 
to  enwrap  both  of  them. 

"  This  is  a  very  pretty  chamber,"  she  said,  poising  her 
head  upon  her  hands,  and  affecting  to  survey  the  crypt 
with  interest.  "  Nothing  very  terrible  about  it,  after 
all.  I  might  have  spared  myself  the  letter  to  Dr.  Roth- 
well." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  the  earl,  with  a  quick  nervous 
start. 

"  Peccavi!  I  have  done  very  wrong,  I  admit,"  said 
286 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral   Crypt 

Lorelie,  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  I  have  ventured  to  dis 
obey  your  command  that  I  should  tell  nobody  of  this, 
our  midnight  adventure :  for,  as  one  never  knows  what 
may  happen  when  visiting  the  haunts  of  the  dead,  I 
could  not  refrain  from  communicating  with  Dr.  Rothwell 
on  the  matter.  He  is  aware  of  this  visit  of  ours  to  the 
crypt.  Commend  my  wisdom,  my  lord,  in  thus  taking 
precautions  to  secure  our  safe  return." 

Never  did  human  countenance  change  so  quickly  as 
did  that  of  the  earl  at  these  words.  He  glanced  at  Ivar. 
Dismay  was  reflected  in  the  eyes  of  each. 

"  Here  is  the  note  I  received  from  him  this  afternoon," 
continued  Lorelie  imperturbably,  drawing  forth  the  com 
munication  and  tossing  it  carelessly  upon  the  table. 
"  You  observe  his  words.  '  Dear  Lady  Walden,  I  give 
you  my  promise  that  if  I  do  not  meet  you  at  the  porch 
of  Ravenhall  to-morrow  morning  at  eight,  I  will  come 
and  seek  you  in  the  vault." 

"  He  would  have  some  trouble  in  rinding  it,"  sneered 
the  earl. 

"  Not  at  all.  Dr.  Rothwell  knows  his  way  to  this 
crypt  as  well  as  you  or  Ivar.  He  made  a  secret  visit 
here  on  April  the  tenth  of  this  year,  the  night  on  which 
Ivar  returned  home  from  the  continent." 

"  Godfrey  was  at  Ravenhall  that  night,"  muttered  the 
viscount  uneasily. 

"  He  was  here  —  in  this  vault,  I  repeat,  at  three  in  the 
morning.  And  the  scene  he  witnessed  was  past  belief. 
It  would  do  you  good,  Ivar,  to  listen  to  his  story.  It 
would  really  interest  you ;  you,  perhaps,  more  than  any 
other  person." 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  at  these  words  Ivar 
became  green  with  fear.  He  turned  his  head  from  the 
earl  in  order  to  conceal  his  agitation.  The  secret  which 
he  had  believed  to  be  locked  within  his  own  breast  was 

287 


The  Viking's  Skull 

known  to  others  —  was  being  hinted  at  in  the  presence 
of  his  father,  the  very  person  from  whom  he  most  desired 
to  conceal  it.  How  much  did  Lorelie  know  ?  What 
would  she  be  saying  next  ?  Words,  perhaps,  that  would 
bring  him  to  ruin. 

"  Ivar,  I  see,  is  persuaded  of  the  truth  of  my  statement. 
You  are  more  sceptical,  my  lord,  but  you  shall  be  con 
vinced." 

She  detached  the  velvet  bow  from  her  neckband  and 
flung  it  lightly  beside  Godfrey's  note. 

"  Cut  the  threads  of  that ;  unfold  the  velvet,  and  you 
will  find  that  its  shape  corresponds  exactly  with  the 
little  rent  at  the  foot  of  that  curtain.  It  was  Dr.  Roth- 
well  who  cut  off  this  piece  of  velvet,  bringing  it  away 
with  him  to  prove  —  if  proof  should  ever  be  required  — 
that  he  has  stood  in  the  secret  crypt  of  the  Ravengars. 
Do  you  still  doubt  me,  my  lord,  or  do  you  require  further 
proof  ?  " 

On  the  contrary  he  was  so  certain  of  the  truth  of  her 
words  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  verify  them,  but  stood, 
fingering  the  velvet  bow  with  a  dark  expression  of  coun 
tenance. 

Looking  upon  Lorelie  as  an  enemy  to  be  silenced  at 
all  costs  he  had  brought  her  to  this  vault  intending  that 
she  should  never  leave  it.  Ivar  was  a  reluctant  accom 
plice,  his  reluctance  arising  not  from  any  conscientious 
scruples,  but  from  the  dangerous  consequences  attending 
the  commission  of  such  a  deed.  The  disappearance  of 
the  new  viscountess  on  the  second  day  of  her  coming  to 
Ravenhall  would  be  an  event  that  could  not  fail  to  bring 
suspicion  and  inquiry  in  its  train. 

Lorelie  had  divined  their  plot,  and  having  taken  steps 
for  its  frustration,  had  fearlessly  accompanied  them  to  the 
destined  scene  of  her  death.  And  here  she  was,  a  slender, 
fragile  woman,  in  a  lonely  situation,  with  no  one  to  hear 

288 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

her  cry  for  help,  in  the  presence  of  two  men  desirous  of 
her  death,  and  yet,  thanks  to  her  forethought,  as  safe  as 
if  attended  by  an  armed  escort. 

Her  calm  air,  her  radiant  beauty,  added  fuel  to  the 
earl's  secret  rage.  If  he  had  followed  his  first  impulse  he 
would  have  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  twining  his  fingers 
around  her  throat  have  silenced  her  forever.  But  pru 
dence  compelled  him  to  refrain  from  violence.  The 
thought  of  having  to  face  on  the  morrow  the  stern  in 
quiring  eyes  of  Godfrey  acted  as  a  potent  check. 

Fortunately  for  himself  he  had  not  proceeded  to  the 
length  of  openly  avowing  his  awful  purpose :  he  was 
therefore  free  to  deny  it,  if  she  had  any  suspicion,  as  he 
was  strongly  disposed  to  believe  that  she  had.  Besides, 
what  mattered  her  suspicion  ?  She  had  no  real  proof  to 
offer  the  world.  Opposed  to  her  single  testimony  was 
the  joint  testimony  of  himself  and  her  husband. 

He  began  to  breathe  freely  again.  The  matter  might 
yet  end  well  as  regarded  his  own  safety  —  the  only  con 
sideration  that  troubled  him. 

Lorelie,  knowing  the  cause  of  his  mortification,  sat  at 
ease  in  her  chair,  secretly  enjoying  her  triumph. 

At  last,  feigning  to  be  angry,  she  exclaimed  : — 

"  How  silent  you  are  !  Are  you  going  to  let  me  de 
part  from  this  vault  without  enlightening  me  as  to  its 
mysteries  ?  Come,  Ivar,  play  the  part  of  cicerone.  Draw 
aside  the  curtain  from  each  alcove,  and  give  me  the  names 
and  biographies  of  the  coffined  dead.  I  am  in  an  his 
toric  genealogic  mood." 

Ivar,  not  knowing  whether  to  obey,  glanced  irreso 
lutely  at  his  father. 

"  Gratify  the  curious  fool,"  the  earl  muttered  moodily. 

With  an  ill  grace  at  having  to  obey  the  wife  whom  he 
hated,  and  troubled  by  a  secret  foreboding  that  his  guilty 
secret  was  about  to  transpire,  Ivar  approached  the  alcove 
19  289 


The  Viking's  Skull 

nearest  the  door,  and,  lifting  the  velvet  drapery,  disclosed 
a  deep  recess,  the  walls  of  which  were  pierced  with  niches 
containing  coffins. 

"  This,"  he  remarked  sullenly,  touching  one,  "  is  the 
coffin  of  Lancelot  Ravengar,  the  first  earl  of  Ormsby." 

And  so  he  proceeded  from  one  alcove  to  another, 
giving  the  names  of  the  dead  peers,  his  amiability  not 
improved  by  the  caustic  remarks  made  by  Lorelie. 

"  A  dull  catalogue  of  nonentities,  unknown  to  fame," 
she  said,  when  Ivar  had  finished  his  recital.  "  But  I 
observed  that  you  entirely  passed  over  the  fourth  alcove. 
Why  ?  Raise  the  curtain  and  let  me  see  what  it  con 
tains." 

With  manifest  reluctance  the  viscount  lifted  the  drapery, 
revealing  in  the  alcove  a  coffin  on  trestles. 

"  This  is  the  coffin  of  Urien  Ravengar,  my  grand 
father." 

"  In  saying  that,  you  of  course  mean  simply  that  that  is 
the  name  on  the  plate." 

"  That  coffin,"  broke  in  the  earl  in  a  harsh  voice, "  con 
tains  the  body  of  my  father,  Urien  Ravengar." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Lorelie  quietly. 

In  a  blaze  of  wrath  the  earl  turned  suddenly  upon 
Ivar. 

"  Fool !  what  have  you  been  telling  this  woman  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Nothing  !  "  replied  the  viscount,  shrinking  back. 
And  seeing  disbelief  expressed  on  his  father's  face,  he 
added,  "  Ask  her  :  if  she  speak  truth  she  will  tell  you  that 
nothing  relating  to  this  coffin  has  passed  my  lips." 

"Then  how  —  how?  "began  the  earl:  then,  breaking 
off  abruptly,  he  turned  to  Lorelie  with  the  question : 
"  Tell  me,  then,  what  this  coffin  does  contain  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  wish  to  learn,"  she  replied  coolly.  "  It 
is  my  chief  reason  for  visiting  this  vault." 

"  You  will  remain  in  ignorance." 
290 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

"  I  shall  depart  enlightened.  Was  it  not  from  that 
coffin,  Ivar,"  she  said,  turning  to  him,  "  that  you  took 
the  golden  vase  you  gave  me  some  time  ago  ?  " 

She  was  drawing  a  bow  at  a  venture,  but  the  arrow 
found  its  mark.  The  sweat  glistened  on  Ivar's  forehead. 
He  betrayed  all  the  confusion  of  a  guilty  person.  His 
father  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"  A  golden  vase ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a  bitter  smile. 
"  Ivar,  I  must  look  into  that  coffin ! " 

Thus  speaking  he  made  his  way  to  the  alcove  where 
the  viscount  was  standing.  Moved  by  curiosity  Lorelie 
also  drew  near. 

"  Take  the  screwdriver,  and  remove  the  lid,"  said  Lord 
Ormsby  in  a  stern  voice. 

Sullenly  and  mutely  Ivar  proceeded  to  do  his  father's 
bidding. 

No  one  spoke,  and  nothing  disturbed  the  stillness  save 
the  crisp  revolution  of  the  screwdriver.  With  folded 
arms  and  compressed  lips  the  earl  stood  looking  on,  an 
expression  on  his  face  that  boded  ill  for  his  son  should 
he  find  his  suspicion  verified. 

The  last  screw  was  loosed,  and  as  Ivar  raised  the  lid 
Lorelie's  eyes  instantly  closed,  dazzled  by  a  thousand 
rays  of  many-coloured  light,  shooting  up  in  all  direc 
tions  from  the  coffin,  like  bright  spirits  rejoicing  to  be 
free. 

Putting  up  her  hand  to  shield  her  sight  from  the 
radiance  she  endeavoured  to  obtain  a  clear  idea  of  what 
was  before  her. 

The  coffin,  of  more  than  ordinary  size,  was  a  veritable 
treasure-chest,  filled  to  the  lid  with  plate  and  precious 
stones,  the  latter  forming  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the 
contents. 

Forgetful  of  her  aversion  to  the  earl,  forgetful  of  her 
recent  peril,  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  sight  before 

291 


The  Viking's  Skull 

her,  Lorelie  stood  with  parted  lips  and  dilated  eyes,  spell 
bound  by  the  glittering  array  of  wealth.  Her  knowledge 
of  art  taught  her  that  the  antiquity  and  workmanship  of 
the  ornaments  far  exceeded  the  intrinsic  value  of  the 
materials  composing  them.  There  was  a  crucifix,  formed 
from  one  entire  piece  of  amber,  the  plunder  of  some 
Saxon  monastery :  an  ivory  drinking-horn,  engraved 
with  runic  letters,  that  spoke  of  the  old  Norseland :  a 
golden  lamp,  inscribed  with  a  verse  from  the  Koran, 
a  relic  of  Moorish  rule  in  Spain :  rare  coins,  that  had 
found  their  way  from  the  Byzantine  treasury.  Every 
part  of  mediaeval  Europe  had  apparently  contributed 
some  memorial  to  this  store. 

But,  as  previously  stated,  the  quantity  of  plate  was 
small  in  comparison  with  the  gems.  It  was  these  that 
riveted  Lorelie's  attention.  Never  in  any  collection  of 
crown-jewels  had  she  seen  the  equal  of  these  stones  for 
variety  and  size,  for  brilliance  and  beauty.  The  richest 
caliph  of  the  East  might  have  envied  the  possessor  of 
such  a  store.  It  suggested  a  dream  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights." 

"  Ah  !  you  may  well  gaze  !  "  cried  the  earl  to  Lorelie, 
in  a  fierce  exultant  tone.  "  Find  me  the  man  in  Britain 
who  owns  such  wealth  as  this !  Take  every  object  out 
of  the  coffin,"  he  continued,  addressing  Ivar.  "  Lay 
each  and  all  upon  the  table.  Let  Lady  Walden  handle 
them  that  she  may  realize  the  wealthy  match  she  has 
made." 

Lorelie  quite  understood  the  earl's  motive  in  making 
this  display.  Since  he  could  not  get  rid  of  her,  his  only 
other  policy  was  to  conciliate  her.  She  smiled  disdain 
fully  to  herself.  It  was  not  to  her  interest,  however,  to 
quarrel  with  him  at  present :  she  must  simulate  friendly 
relations  till  the  purpose  for  which  she  had  come  to 
Ravenhall  should  be  accomplished. 

292 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

"  Yes,  let  me  see  everything,"  she  said  in  seeming 
eagerness. 

Drawing  the  table  to  the  entrance  of  the  alcove  Ivar 
proceeded  to  empty  the  coffin  of  its  contents.  During 
this  operation  Lorelie's  surprise  rose  almost  to  fever-heat 
at  sight  of  some  of  the  objects  drawn  forth. 

When  the  coffin  had  been  emptied,  the  earl  produced 
a  pocketbook  containing  a  list  of  the  treasures. 

"  '  Article  i,'  "  he  read  out.  " '  Ancient  Norse  funereal 
urn,  of  pure  gold,  set  with  opals.'  " 

The  viscount  handed  a  vase  to  his  father. 

"  Safe,  I  see,"  said  the  earl.  "  I  have  been  unjust  to 
you  in  thought,  Ivar,"  he  continued,  apologetically. 
"  When  your  wife  spoke  of  a  golden  vase  given  her  by 
you,  my  thoughts  associated  themselves  with  this.  I  ac 
knowledge  my  error." 

Ivar  cast  an  anxious  look  at  Lorelie,  dreading  lest  her 
words  should  lead  to  the  betrayal  of  his  secret.  But 
Lorelie  said  nothing,  though  in  a  state  of  extreme 
amazement  and  perplexity :  for  the  jewelled  vessel  now 
in  the  earl's  hands  seemed  to  be  the  very  vase  given  to 
her  by  Ivar  some  weeks  previously  —  the  vase  that  had 
played  so  important  a  part  in  her  hypnotic  experiment 
with  Beatrice. 

On  coming  to  Ravenhall  Lorelie  had  left  it  behind  her 
at  The  Cedars :  how  came  it  to  be  here  in  the  vault  of 
the  Ravengars  ?  Was  it  a  replica  ?  If  so,  it  was  cer 
tainly  a  marvellous  imitation  of  the  original,  since  she 
could  detect  no  points  of  difference. 

"  Observe  the  lustre  of  the  opals,"  said  the  earl,  his 
eyes  gleaming  with  pleasure ;  and  Lorelie  perceived  that 
his  love  of  study,  great  though  it  might  be,  had  not 
quenched  in  him  the  passion  of  avarice.  "  An  interest 
ing  and  precious  relic  of  Norse  antiquity,  this  ! "  con 
tinued  the  earl,  tapping  the  urn  affectionately.  "  It 

293 


The  Viking's  Skull 


contains  the  ashes  of  Draco  the  Golden,  the  founder  of 
our  family.  From  the  grey  dust  within  this  urn  all  we 
Ravengars  have  sprung." 

The  vase  at  The  Cedars  also  held  the  remains  of  the 
same  Viking,  if  the  story  told  by  Beatrice  in  her  hypnotic 
trance  was  to  be  relied  upon.  The  supposition  that  the 
ashes  of  Orm  had  been  divided  between  two  urns  seemed 
absurd :  and  yet  how  otherwise  was  this  mystery  to  be 
explained,  unless  indeed  Ivar,  unknown  to  her,  had  paid 
a  visit  to  The  Cedars,  and  having  obtained  the  vase,  had 
restored  it  to  the  place  whence  he  had  originally  taken 
it.  Unlikely  as  this  last  hypothesis  might  be,  it  seemed 
the  only  one  capable  of  meeting  the  requirements  of  the 
case. 

The  earl,  having  carefully  deposited  the  urn  in  one 
corner  of  the  coffin,  referred  again  to  his  catalogue. 

"  '  Article  2.  Norse  altar-ring  of  pure  silver,  inscribed 
with  runic  characters.'  Yes,  this  is  it,"  he  continued,  re 
ceiving  the  article  from  Ivar's  hand.  "  The  ring  of  Odin, 
that  figures  in  our  armorial  shield.  Many  a  legend  of 
blood  clings  to  this  relic.  What  a  history  it  could  unfold, 
were  it  but  endowed  with  speech  !  " 

The  golden  vase  had  puzzled  Lorelie,  but  this  silver 
relic  puzzled  her  still  more.  She  did  not  doubt  that  the 
object  before  her  was  the  identical  ring,  the  non-produc 
tion  of  which  at  the  trial  of  Eric  Marville,  was  one  of  the 
points  that  had  told  against  him.  She  knew  the  story  of 
its  theft  from  Mrs.  Breakspear,  and,  like  Idris,  knew  not 
whither  it  had  vanished.  Now,  after  all  these  years,  it 
thus  reappeared !  By  what  circuitous  route,  through 
how  many  bloodstained  hands,  had  it  passed  before  re 
gaining  its  ancient  abode  ? 

Mechanically  she  took  the  ring  from  the  earl's  hand. 
If  this  were  indeed  the  very  relic,  there  should  be  a  black 
mark  upon  the  inner  perimeter  of  the  ring.  Upon  ex- 

294 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral   Crypt 

amining  it,  however,  she  could  discover  no  stain  at  all : 
the  metal  band  was  bright  and  unsullied. 

Was  this  ring,  like  the  vase,  a  replica :  or  was  there 
truth  in  the  ancient  legend  that  the  bloodstain  would 
vanish  when  some  one  should  meet  with  a  violent  end  as 
an  atonement  for  the  slaying  of  the  Norse  herald  ?  Cer 
tain  it  was  that  a  death  had  occurred  in  connection  with 
the  finding  of  the  treasure. 

With  a  bewildered  air  she  handed  back  the  ring  to  the 
earl,  who  placed  it  within  the  coffin  beside  the  vase,  and 
turned  again  to  his  list. 

" '  Article  3.  A  sapphire  drinking-cup.  Weight '  — 
ah  !  look  at  this  !  "  he  cried,  breaking  off  from  his  read 
ing  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  "  Look  at  it !  Handle  it ! 
Admire  it !  Can  the  Dresden  Gallery  produce  its  like  ?  " 

A  low  and  prolonged  cry  of  admiration  flowed  from 
Lorelie's  lips.  The  object  handed  to  her  by  the  earl  was 
a  miniature  goblet,  the  tiny  bowl,  stem,  and  stand  being 
delicately  sculptured  from  one  entire  sapphire.  It  was  a 
work  of  art,  as  well  as  a  splendid  gem.  With  the  de 
light  of  a  child  over  a  new  toy  Lorelie  raised  the  gleam 
ing  brilliant  aloft,  placing  it  between  her  eye  and  the 
light  in  order  to  mark  its  lovely  azure  transparency.  Its 
beauty  was  such  as  almost  to  reconcile  her  to  her  lot 
with  Ivar.  To  think  if  she  chose,  she  might  in  time  to 
come  be  the  joint-possessor  of  such  a  gem ! 

"  A  million  of  money  would  not  buy  that  cup,"  cried 
the  earl,  watching  her  look  of  admiration.  "  It  belonged 
originally  to  the  great  Caliph,  Abderahman  the  Second, 
and  was  taken  by  Draco  and  his  Vikings  at  the  sacking 
of  the  Moorish  palace  at  Seville.  It  vanished  from  hu 
man  ken,  and  has  lain  hidden  in  a  night  of  ten  centuries. 
The  lapidaries  of  the  present  age  scoff  at  its  description 
in  history,  believing  the  gem  to  be  the  creation  of  Ara 
bian  fancy :  but  here  it  is,  existing  to-day,  to  confute 

295 


The  Viking's  Skull 

their  shallow  scepticism.  Were  this  gem  known  to 
the  world  it  would  take  the  title  of  '  The  Queen  of 
Sapphires.' " 

Charmed  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe, 
Lorelie  turned  the  cup  slowly  round,  flashing  the  light 
from  a  hundred  facets  :  and  then  —  and  then  —  she  made 
a  discovery.  A  minute  air-bubble  was  faintly  visible  in 
the  crystalline  azure ! 

She  glanced  at  the  earl.  His  triumphant  face  showed 
that  he  had  not  the  least  inkling  of  the  truth.  She 
looked  at  Ivar,  who  happened  at  this  moment  to  be 
standing  behind  his  father.  The  sudden  change  in  Lore- 
lie's  countenance  assured  the  viscount  of  the  fact  of  her 
discovery :  and  now,  he,  the  coward  who  had  been  will 
ing  to  take  her  life,  was  appealing  to  her  by  gesture  and 
expression  to  keep  her  knowledge  a  secret  from  his 
father. 

For  that  which  gave  the  earl  such  pride  was  in  truth 
nothing  but  an  artificial  gem,  a  marvellous  imitation 
of  the  real  thing,  but  still  merely  a  piece  of  coloured 
glass ! 

Lorelie  became  more  perplexed  than  ever  at  this  dis 
covery.  How  came  Ivar  to  know  that  the  gem  was 
false,  and  why  was  he  so  anxious  to  conceal  the  truth 
from  his  father  ? 

Then  in  a  moment  everything  became  clear. 

Always  pressed  for  money,  and  precluded  by  his 
father's  parsimony  from  obtaining  it,  Ivar  had  formed 
the  plan  of  appropriating  a  certain  portion  of  the  plate 
and  gems  contained  in  the  coffin.  To  secure  himself 
from  detection  he  had  artfully  replaced  the  originals  by 
clever  facsimiles,  fabricated  on  the  continent  by  gold 
smiths  and  glass-workers  of  the  class  who  would  ask  no 
inconvenient  questions  provided  that  they  were  well  paid 
for  their  work.  To  obtain  the  necessary  counterfeits  Ivar 

296 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

must  have  conveyed  the  originals  to  the  continent,  a  very 
hazardous  thing  to  do,  seeing  that  if  the  earl  had  paid  a 
visit  of  inspection  to  the  treasure  during  his  son's  ab 
sence,  discovery  would  have  been  inevitable.  The 
counterfeits  being  completed,  Ivar  had  brought  them 
concealed  in  the  reliquary  to  Ravenhall,  and  had  trans 
ferred  them  to  the  coffin,  his  remark  while  doing  so  — 
the  remark  overheard  by  Godfrey  —  to  wit,  "  I  hope 
Lorelie  will  be  satisfied,"  being  doubtless  drawn  from  him 
by  the  fact  that  Lorelie  was  often  making  monetary 
demands  upon  him,  a  fact  which  she  herself  would  be 
the  first  to  admit,  though  she  little  dreamed  of  the  means 
taken  by  him  to  supply  her  costly  tastes.  She  could  not 
avoid  the  feeling  that,  to  some  extent,  she  was  responsible 
for  Ivar's  peculations  :  and,  therefore,  compliant  with  his 
wish,  she  kept  silent,  and  permitted  the  earl  to  remain  in 
his  ignorance. 

The  contents  of  the  coffin  were  a  mixture  of  the  gen 
uine  and  the  spurious.  The  altar-ring  was  the  genuine 
article  :  it  would  not  have  paid  for  the  trouble  of  counter 
feiting.  The  jewelled  vase  was  spurious :  on  glancing 
again  at  this  last,  Lorelie  wondered  how  she  could  have 
taken  the  metal  for  gold :  it  now  seemed  to  her  eyes 
merely  like  common  bronze.  The  "  sapphire  cup  "  was 
but  worthless  glass:  she  almost  sighed  at  the  thought 
that  the  lovely  original  should  have  been  exchanged  for 
current  coin  of  the  realm.  The  selling  of  such  a  gem 
was  an  act  little  short  of  sacrilege. 

"  Well  may  you  linger  over  it !  "  cried  the  earl,  think 
ing  that  her  long  retention  of  the  cup  was  the  result  of 
admiration.  "  Such  a  gem  as  that  is  too  lovely  for  earth, 
too  precious  even  for  an  empress  to  drink  from." 

"  But  not  for  a  Ravengar,  surely  ?  "  said  Lorelie. 

And  taking  up  the  decanter  she  filled  the  azure  cup 
with  wine,  and  held  it  out  to  him. 

297 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Drink,  my  lord,"  she  said  smiling,  and  recalling  his 
own  words,  " '  Tis  of  a  choice  vintage,  one  of  the  rarest 
of  the  Madeiras.' " 

But  from  that  cup  the  earl  recoiled  as  from  the  sum 
mons  of  Death  himself. 

"  Why,  you  start  as  though  'twere  poison,"  laughed 
Lorelie.  "  Will  you  not  drink,  Ivar  ?  "  she  added,  turn 
ing  to  the  viscount  and  offering  him  the  cup.  "  What ! 
and  do  you,  too,  shrink  from  a  few  drops  of  innocent 
Malvazia  ?  refuse  the  honour  of  drinking  from  the  great 
Abderahman's  cup  ?  the  caliph's  own,  veritable,  genuine, 
historic  cup  !  you  understand  ?  " 

He  did  —  fully.  Stepping  forward,  she  said  in  a  fierce 
thrilling  whisper :  — 

"  How  much  is  your  life  worth,  if  I  let  your  father 
know  that  this  cup  is  but  a  piece  of  coloured  glass  ?  " 

It  was  not  in  Lorelie's  nature  to  take  pleasure  in 
another's  pain ;  yet  on  the  present  occasion  the  despair 
and  fear  expressed  in  Ivar's  eyes  was  a  luxury  to  her,  al 
most  compensating  for  his  attempt  on  her  life. 

"  It  was  for  your  sake  I  did  it,"  he  muttered  with  white 
lips. 

Contemptuously  turning  away  from  him,  she  said  :  — 

"  Well,  then,  if  neither  will  drink,  I,  too,  shall  refuse. 
I  will  imitate  those  excellent  examples,  my  husband  and 
father.  Let  us  be  classical  and  pour  out  a  libation. 
Here's  to  the  great  Archfiend  himself,  the  author  and 
giver  of  the  treasure,  for  Heaven,  I  am  convinced,  has 
had  little  to  do  with  it." 

She  inverted  the  cup :  but,  either  by  accident  or  de 
sign,  the  greater  part  of  the  liquid  fell  in  splashes  upon 
her  dress,  very  few  drops  reaching  the  floor. 

Jfc  5|<  SJC  5K  *  * 

On  reaching  her  bedroom  Lorelie's  first  care  was  to 
lock  the  door :  her  next,  to  cut  from  her  dress  every  por- 

298 


The  Secret  of  the  Funeral  Crypt 

tion  stained  with  wine.  These  fragments  of  cloth  she 
placed  in  a  glass  phial,  steeping  them  in  water.  Then 
the  spirit  that  had  sustained  her  through  the  long  and 
terrible  ordeal  gave  way,  and  reeling  forward  she  fell 
heavily  across  the  bed. 


299 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   CRANIOLOGICAL   EXPERIMENT 

IDRIS  BREAKSPEAR  strolled  slowly  to  and  fro 
beneath  the  lime-trees  in  the  garden  of  Wave  Crest, 
reading  for  the  twentieth  time  a  letter  received  by 
him  the  previous  evening. 

Accompanying  the  letter  was  a  note  worded  thus  :  — 
"  The  enclosed  speaks  for  itself.  Can  you  ever  forgive 
me  for  my  seven  years'  silence? — LORELIE  ROCHEFORT." 

The  missive  forwarded  to  Idris  was  her  mother's  con 
fession  relative  to  the  murder  of  M.  Duchesne,  a  confes 
sion  which,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  overwhelmed  Idris 
with  amazement. 

The  hope  entertained  by  him  during  so  many  long 
years  was  at  last  realized :  it  was  now  within  his  power 
to  clear  his  father's  memory ;  but  the  knowledge  brought 
with  it  as  much  pain  as  pleasure,  for  to  establish  his 
father's  innocence  was  to  bring  ignominy  upon  the  name 
of  the  woman  he  loved. 

A  soft  footfall  attracted  his  attention,  and  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  letter  he  saw  Lady  Walden  herself.  Sadly 
and  timidly  she  stood,  obviously  in  doubt  as  to  the  sort 
of  reception  she  would  meet  with.  To  face  the  reproach 
ful  eyes  of  Idris  was  a  more  trying  ordeal  than  that  of 
accompanying  the  earl  to  the  terrible  vault. 

She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  are  reading  my  mother's  letter,  I  perceive.  You 
know  now  that  it  was  my  father  and  not  yours  that  mur 
dered  Duchesne.  I  have  come,"  she  faltered,  "  I  have 
come  to  ask,  yet  scarcely  daring  to  ask,  whether  you  can 

300 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

forgive  me  for  maintaining  silence  hitherto.  I  have 
longed  to  tell  you  the  truth,  but  have  been  afraid.  Do 
not,"  she  added,  breathlessly,  "  do  not  reproach  me.  You 
cannot  reproach  me  more  than  my  own  conscience 
has." 

The  look  of  sorrow  in  her  eyes  instantly  effaced  from 
Idris'  mind  all  resentment  for  his  father's  wrongs.  The 
oath  sworn  to  his  mother  in  childhood's  days  became  for 
gotten. 

"  Lady  Walden,"  he  replied,  "  if  there  be  anything  on 
my  part  to  forgive,  I  freely  forgive.  I  cannot  blame  you 
for  seeking  to  shield  your  father's  name." 

The  look  of  gratitude  that  came  over  her  face  thrilled 
Idris,  who  would  gladly  have  forgiven  her  ten  times  as 
much  for  such  a  glance  as  she  now  gave  him. 

She  had  expected  to  be  treated  with  coldness,  if  not 
with  anger  by  Idris,  instead  of  which  she  received  from 
him  the  same  tender  respect  as  heretofore.  She  trembled 
with  secret  pleasure  to  think  that  she  still  held  a  place 
in  his  regard. 

"  And  now  you  know  the  truth,  you  will  publish  it  to 
the  world,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  replied,  speaking  slowly  and  thought 
fully.  "  No,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not." 

"  You  will  not  redeem  your  father's  memory  from 
guilt  ?  "  said  Lorelie,  with  a  little  gasp  of  surprise.  "  Why 
not?" 

"  Because  the  fair  name  of  Lady  Walden  must  not  be 
darkened  by  the  shadow  of  the  past." 

Her  eyes  drooped.  She  had  no  need  to  ask  why  he 
was  desirous  of  shielding  her  name  from  reproach,  know 
ing  full  well  that  it  was  from  love  of  her. 

"  But  this  —  this  is  not  just,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  To  proclaim  the  truth  would  injure  the  living,"  he 
replied,  "  without  in  any  way  benefiting  the  dead." 

301 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  It  is  not  right,"  she  declared,  "  that  your  father  and 
you  should  bear  the  stigma  that  belongs  to  me  and  mine. 
I  will  proclaim  the  truth  myself." 

"  Lady  Walden,  if  it  be  your  desire  to  please  me,  you 
will  maintain  silence.  But  pardon  my  discourtesy,  you 
are  standing  all  this  time." 

He  led  her  to  a  garden-seat,  and  took  his  place  beside 
her. 

"  You  once  asked  me,"  said  Lorelie,  "  to  let  you  read 
my  father's  correspondence.  I  have  brought  his  letters 
with  me.  They  are  here." 

She  held  out  a  packet  of  letters. 

"  Will  you  not  read  them  to  me,  Lady  Walden  ?  You 
can  then  omit  what  you  think  necessary." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  conceal  anything  contained  in 
them,"  she  answered,  placing  the  letters  in  his  hand. 
"  But  before  you  read,  let  me  forestall  and  correct  an 
erroneous  impression  you  may  be  likely  to  draw  from 
them.  Guided  partly  by  these  letters,  partly  by  other 
considerations,  I  have,  till  a  few  days  ago,  entertained  the 
belief  that  the  Earl  of  Ormsby  was  none  other  than  — 
your  father,  Eric  Marville." 

Despite  his  desire  to  be  serious  Idris  could  not  refrain 
from  smiling  at  this  statement. 

"  And  what  has  led  you  to  discard  this  extraordinary 
theory?"  he  asked. 

"  I  was  glancing  yesterday  over  a  copy  of  an  old 
French  newspaper  —  L Etoile  de  la  Brctagne  —  in  which 
is  given  a  full  description  of  your  father  as  he  appeared 
at  his  trial  in  the  Palais  de  Justice.  Now  in  this  account 
Eric  Marville  is  described  as  having  very  dark  eyes, 
whereas  Lord  Ormsby's  eyes  are  light  grey  in  colour." 

"  Which  deprives  me  of  the  honour  of  claiming  an 
earl  as  my  father,"  said  Idris,  with  an  air  of  mock  disap 
pointment. 

302 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  esteem  it  much  of  an  honour 
when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  But,  first,  will  you 
not  read  these  letters  ?  " 

Idris,  though  much  surprised  by  her  words,  made  no 
further  comment,  but  turned  to  the  correspondence  of 
Captain  Rochefort. 

Lorelie  had  arranged  the  letters  in  chronological  order, 
and  Idris  began  his  perusal,  becoming  more  interested 
with  each  successive  missive.  When  he  had  finished 
reading  he  looked  extremely  grave,  and  said :  — 

"  The  final  letters,  interpreted  by  what  we  know  to 
have  taken  place  within  Ormfell,  would  almost  seem  to 
suggest  —  how  shall  I  say  it?  —  that  your  father  was 
killed  by  mine  !  " 

"  That  at  first  was  my  belief,  but  I  know  now  it  cannot 
have  been." 

"  I  trust  that  you  are  right.  But  why  cannot  it  have 
been  ? " 

"  Beatrice  in  her  hypnotic  trance  recognized  the  face 
of  the  assassin.  But  she  has  never  seen  either  your  father 
or  mine.  Therefore  we  cannot  impute  the  murder  to 
either  of  these." 

"  True  !  "  replied  Idris,  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  relief. 
"  But  tell  me,  Lady  Walden,  what  face  did  she  see,  for  I 
am  convinced  that  you  know." 

"  If,"  she  replied  evasively,  "  if  we  can  discover  the 
present  possessor  of  the  Viking's  treasure,  we  shall  obtain 
a  strong  clue  to  the  assassin  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Well,  then,  the  Viking's  treasure  is  at  Ravenhall, 
concealed  in  the  secret  vault." 

And  she  proceeded  to  intensify  Idris'  surprise  by  re 
lating  the  incident  of  her  visit  to  the  crypt,  saying  noth 
ing,  however,  as  to  the  earl's  purpose  in  taking  her 
thither. 

303 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Who  placed  the  treasure  there  ?  "  asked  Idris. 

"  Four  persons  only  have  had  access  to  this  vault  — 
the  earl,  Viscount  Walden,  the  family  solicitor,  and  the 
Rector  of  Ormsby.  The  two  latter  we  can  at  once  dis 
miss  from  our  list  of '  suspects.'  " 

Idris  turned  a  startled  face  upon  Lorelie. 

"  Surely  you  would  not  have  me  charge  your  husband 
—  your  father-in-law,  with  murder!" 

"  I  strongly  suspect  the  latter  from  the  perturbed  air 
manifested  by  him  when  I  once  hinted  at  my  knowledge 
of  the  crime." 

"  The  grave  and  dignified  earl  the  author  of  such  a 
deed !  Impossible !  " 

"  Not  more  impossible  than  that  my  own  father  should 
be  a  murderer !  " 

Idris  started  at  her  bitter  tone.  Truly  the  Fates  had 
dealt  hardly  with  her  in  the  matter  of  kinsfolk.  Those 
ladies  of  Ormsby  who  were  disposed  to  envy  Madem 
oiselle  Riviere  her  new  rank  would  have  had  little  cause 
for  envy  could  they  have  seen  into  her  mind  at  that 
moment. 

"  I  have  found,"  continued  Lorelie,  "  the  very  instru 
ment  with  which  the  deed  was  wrought.  It  is  here." 

As  she  spoke  she  produced  a  jewelled  hat-pin  shaped 
like  a  stiletto,  the  steel  blade  being  broken  off  short  at  the 
hilt. 

"  This  belonged  to  the  late  Countess  of  Ormsby,  in 
whose  jewel-case  it  has  lain  for  over  twenty  years :  at 
least,  so  the  old  housekeeper  declares.  The  blade  was 
broken  a  short  time  before  the  death  of  the  countess,  and 
has  never  been  repaired." 

"  Does  the  housekeeper  give  any  account  of  how  the 
steel  came  to  be  broken  ?  " 

"  She  tells  a  very  significant  story.  The  countess  lost 
this  stiletto  when  walking  in  the  park  one  day.  On  dis- 

304 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

covering  her  loss  she  immediately  set  the  servants  to  look 
for  it,  but  their  search  was  unavailing.  Next  morning, 
however,  the  earl  returned  the  hat-pin  to  the  countess, 
saying  that  while  taking  a  walk  by  moonlight  he  had 
found  it  in  its  broken  condition. 

"  Now  my  belief  is  that  the  earl,  having  discovered 
that  Ormfell  was  the  site  of  a  buried  treasure,  was  pro 
ceeding  thither  at  night,  either  alone  or  attended  by  a 
servant,  for  the  purpose  of  opening  the  hillock,  and  while 
on  his  way  through  the  park  he  chanced  to  light  upon 
his  wife's  hat-pin.  Naturally  he  did  not  leave  it  lying 
upon  the  ground,  but  picked  it  up  and  placed  it  upon  his 
person.  And  this  is  the  weapon  with  which  he  attacked 
the  other  man,  whoever  he  may  have  been,  that  was 
with  him  in  the  hillock.  When  the  countess  next 
morning  received  back  her  hat-pin  from  her  husband,  she 
little  knew  of  the  terrible  use  to  which  it  had  been  put." 

"  Your  theory,  if  correct,  proves  that  the  deed  was  un 
premeditated,  otherwise  the  earl  would  have  gone  pro 
vided  with  a  more  efficient  weapon.  Do  you  know  the 
date  of  the  countess's  death  ?  " 

"  She  died  in  the  autumn  of  '77." 

"  Then  the  crime  must  have  taken  place  more  than 
twenty-one  years  ago." 

Idris  fell  to  thinking  :  and  the  result  of  his  thought 
was  that  it  would  be  an  ungrateful  task  to  bring  to  jus 
tice  an  aged  peer  for  a  crime  committed  more  than 
twenty  years  ago.  For  all  he  knew  to  the  contrary  the 
deed  might  have  been  a  case  of  justifiable  homicide  :  the 
earl  had  perhaps  been  compelled  to  slay  the  other  in 
self-defence.  Besides,  was  he  not  Lorelie's  father-in- 
law  ?  If  ignominy  fell  upon  the  House  of  Ravengar  it 
must  fall  likewise  upon  her.  No  breath  of  scandal  must 
touch  her  name.  Idris  felt  that  his  hands  were  tied :  he 
could  make  no  move  in  the  matter. 
20  305 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  We  know  the  author  of  the  deed,  it  seems,"  he  mur 
mured,  "  but  the  identity  of  the  victim  still  remains  a 
mystery.  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  problem  I  am  trying  to  solve." 

"  And  you  say  the  Viking's  treasure  is  in  the  crypt  of 
Ravenhall  ?  What  is  Lord  Ormsby's  object  in  keeping 
it  concealed  ?  " 

"  I  can  but  guess.  Treasure-trove,  as  you  know,  is 
the  property  of  the  Crown  :  therefore  the  earl,  on  finding 
it,  was  compelled  to  act  circumspectly.  The  sudden 
acquisition  of  a  vast  quantity  of  plate  and  jewels  might 
have  given  rise  to  awkward  questions  on  the  part  of  the 
steward,  and  especially  on  the  part  of  Lanfranc,  the  Raven- 
hall  solicitor,  a  man  somewhat  given  to  suspicion.  The 
earl  was  therefore  obliged  to  secrete  his  ill-acquired 
wealth  :  and  this  he  did  by  placing  it  within  one  of  the 
coffins  in  the  crypt,  gratifying  his  avarice  by  occasional 
visits  of  inspection.  That  is  my  theory,  but  of  course  I 
may  be  wrong." 

"  Mortifying  that  he  should  have  to  secrete  it,"  re 
marked  Idris,  "  when  if  the  story  of  the  runic  ring  be 
true,  the  wealth  is  his  by  hereditary  right,  as  the  eldest 
lineal  descendant  of  Orm  the  Viking." 

"  Mr.  Breakspear,  your  right  to  that  treasure  is  greater 
than  the  earl's." 

Idris  was  disposed  to  think  so,  too,  in  virtue  of  the 
long  years  he  had  spent  in  his  attempts  to  decipher  the 
runic  ring.  But  this  was  not  what  Lorelie  meant. 

"  Did  you  not  notice  what  my  father  says  in  one  of 
these  letters,  that  Eric  Marville  claimed  to  be  heir  to  a 
peerage  ?  " 

"  It  did  not  escape  me.     A  surprising  statement,  if  true." 

"  And  the  interest  taken  by  your  father  in  the  runic 
ring,  the  heirloom  of  the  Ravengars,  proves  his  peerage 
to  have  been  the  Earldom  of  Ormsby." 

306 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

"  I  fear  you  are  dealing  in  fanciful  hypotheses/'  smiled 
Idris. 

"  Your  likeness  to  the  family  portraits  of  the  Raven- 
gars  is  very  remarkable." 

"  Mere  coincidence." 

"  Not  so.  It  is  as  certain  that  you  are  the  rightful  Earl 
of  Ormsby  as  it  is  that  the  sun  is  shining." 

"  But  how  ?  In  what  way  ?  "  cried  Idris,  impressed,  in 
spite  of  himself,  by  her  air  of  conviction. 

"  That  I  cannot  tell.     I  am  trying  to  find  out." 

"  I  thank  you,  Lady  Walden,  for  interesting  yourself 
in  my  fortunes,  but  supposing  that  your  surmise  should 
prove  correct  —  what  then  ?  " 

"  You  will  take  the  title  and  station  that  are  rightfully 
yours." 

"  And,  by  so  doing,  deprive  you  of  your  position  ? 
No,  Lady  Walden,  I  cannot  do  that.  If,  as  is  implied 
by  your  words,  you  are  seeking  to  prove  that  I  have  a 
claim  to  the  Earldom  of  Ormsby,  I  would  ask  you  to 
desist.  Let  matters  be  as  they  are.  I  am  quite  content 
to  remain  plain  Idris  Breakspear,  and  to  leave  to  you  the 
coronet  of  the  Ravengars.  I  do  not  believe  that  I  am 
of  noble  birth,  but  in  any  case  I  will  do  nothing  detri 
mental  to  your  position." 

"  My  position  ! "  thought  Lorelie,  bitterly,  as  she  re 
called  the  attempt  made  upon  her  life.  "  Heaven  help 
me  to  escape  from  my  position  !  But,"  she  said,  aloud, 
"  you  are  doing  a  wrong  to  your  future  wife.  She  may 
not  appreciate  the  generosity  that  deprives  her  of  a 
coronet." 

"  My  future  wife ! "  smiled  Idris.     "  I  shall  never  marry." 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  They  do  not  love  who  love  twice." 

Lorelie,  knowing  his  meaning,  trembled,  miserable  and 
happy  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

307 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  continued,  "  to  have  this  opportunity 
of  saying  good-bye,  Lady  Walden,  for  I  leave  England 
soon,  probably  forever." 

Lorelie  received  this  news  with  dismay.  Whether  the 
feeling  of  pleasure  derivable  from  Idris'  friendship  was  a 
right  or  a  wrong  feeling  she  had  never  stopped  to  in 
quire,  but  it  was  a  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  desolation 
fell  upon  her  on  hearing  that  she  was  to  enjoy  it  no 
longer. 

"  A  friend  of  mine  has  received  a  secret  commission 
from  the  Indian  Government  to  explore  Tibet,  the  tour 
to  include  the  forbidden  city  of  Lassa.  I  have  agreed  to 
accompany  him." 

Lorelie  was  not  ignorant  of  the  perils  attending  such 
an  enterprise. 

"  You  will  never  return,"  she  cried. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  he  answered  quietly. 

She  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  her  eyes 
fell,  for  she  understood  him.  Involuntarily  her  mind  was 
led  to  contrast  the  husband,  who  had  sought  to  take  her 
life,  with  Idris,  so  anxious  to  keep  her  name  fair  before 
the  world :  Idris,  whose  love  was  such  that  he  was  will 
ing  to  sacrifice  everything  —  even  his  life  —  for  her  sake  ! 
She  could  not  hide  the  tears  glistening  beneath  her 
lashes.  The  situation  was  a  trying  one  for  both,  but 
fortunately  at  this  moment  a  third  person  appeared  on 
the  scene. 

Beatrice  emerged  from  the  garden-porch,  and  Lorelie, 
averting  her  head,  essayed  to  remove  the  traces  of  tears 
from  her  eyes. 

Beatrice  gave  her  visitor  a  glad  greeting,  but  there  was 
a  subdued  air  about  her,  due,  as  Lorelie  knew,  to  sorrow 
at  the  thought  of  Idris'  departure. 

"  Has  Mr.  Breakspear  told  you  that  he  is  going  to 
leave  us  ?  "  she  asked,  and  receiving  an  affirmative,  she 

308 


A   Craniological  Experiment 

continued  mournfully :  — "  As  this  is  perhaps  the  last 
time  we  shall  be  together  you  must  stay  with  us  as  long 
as  you  can.  We  are  just  about  to  have  luncheon.  Will 
you  not  join  us  ?  " 

Lorelie  readily  assented,  and  went  up-stairs  with  Bea 
trice  to  remove  her  hat  and  mantle. 

"  You  are  not  looking  very  well,  Lady  Walden." 

"  No,  Beatrice.     And  I  shall  never  be  well  again." 

Something  in  her  tone  went  to  Beatrice's  heart :  she 
guessed  that  Lorelie's  unhappiness  arose  from  Ivar's  ill- 
treatment  of  her. 

The  beautiful  face  was  suffused  by  an  expression  so 
miserable  that  Beatrice,  the  maiden  of  eighteen,  in 
voluntarily  drew  the  married  woman  of  twenty-three 
within  her  arms  and  kissed  her  consolingly,  as  though 
the  viscountess  were  a  little  child.  And  Lorelie,  glad  of 
such  sympathy,  clung  to  Beatrice's  embrace. 

"  Beatrice,"  she  said  presently,  "  if  you  should  hear 
that  I  have  slipped  from  a  battlement  on  the  roof  of 
Ravenhall  and  dislocated  my  neck,  or  that  I  have  lost 
my  life  by  falling  into  the  lake  in  the  park,  remember 
that  this  event  will  not  have  happened  by  accident." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  gasped  Beatrice,  thinking  that 
Lorelie  was  contemplating  suicide. 

"  Let  your  brother  say  whether  I  am  wrong.  Did  he 
analyze  the  contents  of  the  phial  that  I  sent  him  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  the  water  contained  —  I  forget  how 
many  grains  of  strychnine,"  replied  Beatrice,  inno 
cently. 

"  Then  I  was  right,"  said  Lorelie,  with  a  face  as  white 
as  death.  "  O,  Beatrice,  the  earl  and  Ivar  tried  to  poison 
me!" 

"  Lady  Walden,  how  dare  you  say  that  ?  "  said  Bea 
trice,  with  a  burst  of  indignation. 

It  was  against  Ravengars  that  Lorelie's  charge  was 
309 


The  Viking's  Skull 

made,  and  Beatrice  suddenly  remembered  that  she  her 
self  was  a  Ravengar.  Bad  as  Ivar  might  be  she  could 
not  believe  him  capable  of  murder :  and  as  for  the  earl, 
had  he  not  always  treated  her  with  kindness  ? 

But  when  Lorelie  began  to  relate  the  incident  of  her 
visit  to  the  crypt,  Beatrice's  scepticism  slowly  vanished, 
and  she  listened  with  a  growing  horror  upon  her  face. 
And  when  the  story  was  ended,  she  sat  cold  and  trem 
bling,  unable  at  first  to  speak. 

"  Are  they  aware  that  you  suspected  their  design  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  I  continue  to  speak  and  act  as  if 
I  have  every  confidence  in  them." 

"  How  can  you  bear  to  live  with  them  ?  What  they 
have  attempted  once  they  may  attempt  again.  How  can 
you  trust  yourself  at  the  same  table  with  them  ?  " 

"  By  eating  of  the  dishes  of  which  they  eat ;  they  are 
not  likely  to  poison  themselves.  I  must  remain  at 
Ravenhall  till  I  have  accomplished  my  task." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  To  obtain  proofs  of  Mr.  Breakspear's  right  to  the 
earldom :  for,  Beatrice,  I  have  reasons  for  believing  that 
he  is  the  rightful  Earl  of  Ormsby." 

And  Lorelie  proceeded  to  repeat  the  arguments  she 
had  addressed  to  Idris,  with  some  others  in  addition. 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  Breakspear  this  ?  "  said  Beatrice, 
breathless  with  excitement. 

"  Yes,  and  he  refuses  to  move  in  the  matter." 

"  But  we  will  make  him,"  cried  Beatrice,  impulsively. 
"  We  will  persuade  him  to  give  up  this  mad  journey  to 
Tibet.  Lady  Walden " 

"  Do  not  recall  my  unhappiness  by  using  that  name : 
besides  it  is  not  justly  mine.  Call  me  Lorelie." 

"  Lorelie,  then.  I  will  come  to  Ravenhall  and  live 
there  with  you." 

310 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

Lorelie's  smile  was  like  sunlight  sweeping  over  a  dark 
landscape. 

"  If  anything  could  make  me  happy  it  would  be  your 
daily  companionship,  dearest  Beatrice." 

"  It  is  not  safe  for  you  to  live  alone  at  Ravenhall," 
continued  Beatrice.  "  I  will  return  with  you  to  keep 
watch  and  ward  over  you.  Together  we  will  work  and 
make  what  discoveries  we  can.  If  Idris  really  be  the 
owner  of  Ravenhall  we  will  do  our  best  to  establish  him 
in  his  rights." 

The  light  of  justice  shone  from  Beatrice's  eyes.  There 
should  be  a  righting  of  the  wrong.  Since  the  earl  and 
Ivar  had  not  hesitated  at  murder,  let  them  suffer  the 
punishment  due  to  their  guilt  by  losing  their  rank  and 
estates. 

"  And  when  that  is  done,"  said  Lorelie,  "  it  will  be  for 
me  to  retire  to  a  convent,  and  for  Idris  to  place  a  coronet 
on  these  tresses,"  she  added,  touching  Beatrice's  hair. 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  replied  Beatrice,  sadly.  "  He  will  not 
marry  me.  Idris  never  loved  any  one  but  you.  It  is 
impossible  for  him  to  have  you,  yet  he  will  never  love 
any  one  else." 

Lorelie  was  touched  to  the  quick  by  Beatrice's  look  of 
distress.  She  felt  that  if  she  herself  had  not  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  Beatrice  might  now  be  happy  in  the  love 
of  Idris. 

"  Beatrice,  believe  me,  I  would  gladly  die  if  my  death 
would  enable  you  to  gain  his  love." 

Beatrice  did  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  this  assurance. 
Brave-hearted  and  generous  the  little  maiden  harboured 
no  resentment  against  her  rival. 

"  He  will  come  to  you  some  day,"  said  Lorelie,  kissing 
the  other  tenderly.  "  He  has  been  with  you  long  enough 
to  know  your  worth.  He  will  find  a  want  of  something 
in  his  life  when  he  is  away  from  you.  He  will  begin  to 


The  Viking's  Skull 

ask  himself  what  it  is.  '  It  is  Beatrice,'  his  heart  will 
answer :  and  he  will  return  to  seek  you." 

Beatrice  shook  her  head,  refusing  to  believe  in  this 
bright  forecast. 

"  Have  you  told  Idris  of  the  attempt  made  upon  your 
life  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No." 

"  We  shall  be  doing  well  not  to  tell  him  of  it.  He  is 
hot-blooded  where  your  welfare  is  concerned :  his  rage 
would  lead  him  to  horsewhip  both  the  earl  and  Ivar,  or 
to  do  something  equally  rash.  It  is  for  us  to  mete  out 
the  punishment.  We  will  do  it  more  circumspectly. 
We  will  lull  them  into  a  false  state  of  security,  and  then, 
when  they  least  expect  it " 

What  more  she  would  have  said  was  cut  short  by  God 
frey  who,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  asked 
whether  he  and  Idris  were  or  were  not  to  have  the  so 
ciety  of  the  ladies  at  luncheon ;  and  thus  adjured  the  two 
went  down  to  the  dining-room. 

Godfrey  was  much  struck  with  Lorelie's  pallid  look, 
and  determined,  before  letting  her  depart,  to  take  a  diag 
nosis  of  her  state,  and  prescribe  accordingly. 

Though  full  of  wonder  when  Beatrice  began  to  tell 
him  of  her  intention  to  live  at  Ravenhall  as  Lorelie's 
companion,  he  made  no  objection,  surmising  that  there 
was  a  mystery  somewhere,  and  that  she  had  good  reason 
for  the  course  she  was  taking. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  Trixie,"  he  remarked. 

"  It  is  only  for  a  time,"  replied  his  sister. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Godfrey,  turning  to  address  Idris, 
"  I  attended  an  old  gentleman  yesterday,  one  enthusiast 
ically  devoted  to  botany,  and  a  little  '  touched/  I  fancy, 
over  his  favourite  pursuit.  He  told  me  among  other 
matters  that  he  had  once  sown  some  mandrake  seeds  on 
the  northern  side  of  Ormfell  with  a  view  of  learning 

312 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

whether  the  plant  would  outlive  the  rigours  of  our 
Northumbrian  winter.  Great  was  his  indignation  to  find 
one  day  that  the  plant  had  been  wilfully  plucked  up  by 
the  roots.  I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  could  give  the  names 
of  the  guilty  persons,  but  contented  myself  with  suggesting 
that  the  renewal  of  his  botanic  experiment  might  have 
more  success  if  confined  to  the  limits  of  his  own  garden." 

"  Ah  !  then  there  is  one  mystery  cleared  up,"  observed 
Idris. 

"  But  there  are  others,"  remarked  Lorelie,  "  which  you 
are  leaving  behind  unsolved.  Cannot  you  persuade  Mr. 
Breakspear,"  she  added,  turning  to  Godfrey,  "  to  abandon 
his  expedition?" 

"  O,  Idris  will  come  back  safely,"  cheerfully  responded 
the  surgeon,  who  did  not  view  the  enterprise  with  the 
same  fears  as  the  ladies.  "  He  will  return  covered  with 
glory.  He  will  have  added  a  valuable  chapter  to  geo 
graphical  science,  and  will  of  course  write  a  book." 

"  Of  surprising  dulness,"  interjected  Idris. 

"  Of  surpassing  interest,"  corrected  Godfrey.  "  I 
wonder  you  never  took  to  authorship,  for  you  have  what 
I  classify  as  the  literary  head." 

"  Don't !     My  vanity  is  great  enough  already." 

"  Did  you  not  know  that  Godfrey  is  an  expert  in 
phrenology  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  Not  till  this  moment.  But  the  news  comes  very  op 
portunely.  Man,  know  thyself!  Godfrey,  give  me  an 
introduction  to  Idris  Breakspear.  Manipulate  my  cra 
nium,  and  let  me  have  a  true  account  of  my  character. 
Be  critical,  and  spare  not !  " 

And  Godfrey,  responsive  to  Idris'  humour,  proceeded 
to  make  a  study  of  his  head. 

"  Take  my  note-book,  Miss  Ravengar,"  smiled  Idris, 
pushing  it  towards  her,  "  and  record  my  wicked  charac 
teristics.  Now,  Godfrey,  begin." 

313 


The  Viking's  Skull 

"  Amativeness,"  said  the  doctor,  placing  his  finger-tips 
beneath  Idris'  ears,  while  Beatrice  laughingly  wrote  the 
word. 

"  You  begin  alphabetically,  do  you  ?  "  remarked  Idris. 
"  Amativeness  :  that,  being  interpreted,  meaneth  love  — 
of — of  the  ladies  generally.     That  organ  is  very  large, 
of  course  ?  " 

"  No.     Fairly  large." 

"  O,  come,  you  must  be  making  a  mistake.  Feel 
again !  It's  a  libel  to  limit  my  amatory  sentiment  to 
'  fairly  large  '  only." 

"  I  put  it  down  as  seven,"  replied  Godfrey. 

"  What's  the  highest  figure  to  which  you  ascend  ?  " 

"  Nine  —  in  my  system." 

"  And  I  do  not  attain  the  top  figure  ?  Can't  you  make 
it  eight,  or  at  least  seven  and  three-quarters  ?  " 

"  The  pupil  must  not  dictate  to  the  master,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"  Combativeness,"  Godfrey  went  on,  his  fingers  ascend 
ing  slightly. 

"  Combativeness,"  repeated  Idris :  "  readiness  to  fight 
for  —  for  the  ladies.  Don't  say  that  isn't  large." 

"  It  is.     Very  large  indeed." 

"  Good !  There  may  be  some  truth  in  phrenology 
after  all.  Put  '  Combativeness '  down  as  nine,  Miss 
Ravengar.  Go  on,  Godfrey !  Next  item,  please  ! " 

So  amid  Idris'  badinage  Godfrey  proceeded  with  his 
statements,  all  of  which  Beatrice  laughingly  wrote  down. 
Presently  a  grave  expression  stole  over  Godfrey's  face, 
and  before  he  had  ended  his  task  the  expression  had  be 
come  one  of  doubt  and  perplexity.  Both  Lorelie  and 
Beatrice  noticed  it.  Idris,  however,  was  precluded  by 
his  position  from  seeing  Godfrey's  look. 

"  Well,  now,  this  is  very  pleasant  reading,"  said  Idris 
banteringly,  receiving  his  pocketbook  from  Beatrice,  and 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

glancing  over  what  she  had  written.  "  I  feel  as  a  returned 
spirit  may  be  supposed  to  feel  when  he  peruses  the  virtues 
inscribed  on  his  tombstone  and  fails  to  recognize  himself. 
Such  a  character  as  this,  duly  attested  and  signed  '  G. 
Rothwell,  M.  D.,'  ought  to  procure  me  a  free  pass  to  any 
part  of  Tibet." 

He  began  to  talk  of  his  intended  expedition,  and  a 
trifling  argument  arising  between  himself  and  Godfrey 
relative  to  some  point  of  Tibetan  geography,  Beatrice,  as 
if  to  settle  the  dispute,  wickedly  despatched  Idris  to  the 
library  for  a  book  that  she  knew  he  would  not  find 
there. 

As  soon  as  he  had  vanished  through  the  doorway  she 
turned  to  her  brother. 

"  Godfrey,  why  did  you  look  so  serious  while  studying 
Idris'  head  ?  " 

"  Did  I  look  serious  ?  " 

"Did  you  look ?  Just  listen  to  him,  Lorelie! 

Don't  equivocate.  You  have  discovered  something  :  I 
know  you  have.  Something  that  troubles  you.  What 
is  it  ?  Didn't  Idris'  character  impress  you  favourably  ?  " 

"  Idris'  character  is  exactly  as  I  gave  it." 

"  Then  why  look  as  if  he  were  an  ogre  ?  " 

"  It  is  but  twenty-four  hours  since  I  examined  another 
head." 

"  Whose  ?  " 

"  You  shall  learn  presently.  Here  is  the  result  of  my 
study  of  '  Nemo1,  as  I  call  him." 

He  drew  out  his  own  pocketbook  and  directed  Bea 
trice's  attention  to  a  certain  page  headed  "  Character  of 
Nemo" 

Very  much  puzzled,  Beatrice  conned  his  notes,  but  had 
not  proceeded  very  far  before  she  snatched  up  Idris' 
pocketbook  and  began  to  compare  the  remarks  in  each. 

" '  Amativeness  —  seven.  Combativeness  —  nine,' "  she 

315 


The  Viking's  Skull 

murmured,  reading  the  list  of  characteristics.  "  Why, 
there  is  no  difference  between  them,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Idris  and  your  '  Nemo '  have  heads  exactly  alike." 

"  The  very  thought  that  struck  me  just  now." 

"  Who  is  this  '  Nemo'  ?" 

"  That  is  what  I  wish  to  know." 

"  Didn't  the  man  give  you  his  name,  then  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  ask  him  for  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  have  told  me  if  I  had." 

"  He  wished  to  remain  incognito  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  give  verbal  expression  to  that  effect  in  fact 
he  had  lost  the  power  of  speaking." 

"  Was  he  dumb,  then  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so." 

"  O,  Godfrey,  do  be  explicit,  and  speak  so  that  we  can 
understand." 

"  Truth  to  tell,  the  man  was  dead  !  " 

Beatrice  gave  a  little  scream. 

"  And  his  head  reposes  in  that  cabinet,"  continued 
Godfrey. 

"  You  mean  the  Viking's  skull  ?  " 

"  You've  hit  the  mark." 

«  But  what  —  what ?  " 

"  What  made  me  desirous  of  learning  the  character  of 
the  man  to  whom  the  skull  belonged?  A  passing  whim 
—  nothing  more.  As  I  was  casually  opening  the  cabinet 
yesterday  the  skull  caught  my  eye.  '  Come ! '  said  I, 
'  let  me  see  the  sort  of  fellow  you  were  when  alive.' 
And  this,"  added  Godfrey,  tapping  his  note-book,  "  this 
is  the  result.  Idris  spends  long  years  in  deciphering  a 
runic  inscription  on  an  ancient  ring  :  acting  on  the  vague 
hints  furnished  by  it  he  undertakes  an  expedition  to 
Ormfell,  obtaining  as  his  reward  a  skull  whose  phreno 
logical  development  corresponds  exactly  with  his  own. 

316 


A  Craniological  Experiment 

He  was  quite  right  in  his  opinion  that  the  Viking's  tomb 
would  contain  a  clue  towards  solving  his  father's  fate,  for 
it  is  my  firm  belief  that  the  skull  in  that  cabinet  is  none 
other  than  the  skull  of  Eric  Marville ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   VENGEANCE   OF   THE  SKULL 

VISCOUNT  WALDEN'S  twenty-first  birthday 
was  drawing  near,  and  Ravenhall  was  making 
grand  preparations  for  the  occasion.  Invitations 
were  issued  to  the  local  magnates  and  their  families  — 
invitations  eagerly  accepted,  for  everybody  was  curious 
to  see  both  the  earl,  who  had  so  long  secluded  himself 
from  society,  and  the  new  viscountess,  whose  secret  mar 
riage  had  invested  her  with  a  romantic  interest.  Enter 
tainment  of  various  kinds  was  provided,  for  the  earl's 
guests,  as  well  as  for  the  tenantry  of  his  estates,  the  day 
to  terminate  in  a  grand  ball,  preceded  by  the  performance 
of  a  poetic  drama,  written  by  Lady  Walden,  and  entitled 
The  Fatal  Skull,  a  drama  in  which  the  authoress  herself 
was  to  take  the  leading  role.  The  other  dramatis  persona 
were  drawn  from  a  select  circle  of  Ormsby  society,  and 
their  frequent  rehearsals  filled  Ravenhall  with  a  mirth 
and  a  gaiety  not  known  in  that  gloomy  mansion  for 
many  years.  Lorelie  took  upon  herself  the  office  of 
stage-directress,  and  flung  herself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
work.  She  was  ably  seconded  by  Beatrice  Ravengar, 
who,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody  in  Ormsby,  had  left 
her  brother  Godfrey  in  order  to  be  the  companion  of  the 
new  viscountess.  A  number  of  carpenters  and  scene- 
shifters  from  London  had  transformed  the  great  hall  of 
the  castle  into  a  suitable  stage  and  auditorium.  Scenic 
artists  were  busy  at  the  canvas.  Money  was  freely  lav 
ished  upon  the  appropriate  theatrical  costumes.  A  lead 
ing  society-paper  had  asked  for,  and  had  obtained,  the 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

favour  of  having  a  reporter  present  to  record  the  day's 
doings ;  in  short,  everything  had  been  done  to  ensure 
success,  and  the  amateur  actors  looked  forward  to  the 
event  with  a  pleasurable  zest. 

The  great  day  came  at  last,  as  sunny  and  fair  as  could 
be  desired.  The  earl  moved  about  among  his  guests  and 
tenantry  with  a  dignified  courtesy,  bestowing  '  nods  and 
becks  and  wreathed  smiles  '  on  all  sides,  in  a  manner  sur 
prising  to  those  who  had  hitherto  regarded  him  as  a  sort 
of  gloomy  Manfred. 

Ivar  was  on  excellent  terms  with  himself:  he  flirted 
with  the  ladies,  and  patronized  the  young  men  with  a 
truly  lordly  air.  A  descendant  of  a  noble  house:  heir  to 
a  splendid  estate  :  husband  of  a  wife  whose  loveliness  and 
literary  abilities  were  the  theme  of  universal  praise  — 
what  more  could  he  desire  ?  Indifferent  himself  to  Lore- 
lie's  charms  he  was  not  displeased  to  witness  the  admi 
ration  they  excited  in  others.  She  was  a  part  of  his 
property,  as  it  were :  it  was  but  fitting  that  she  should 
receive  her  tribute  of  praise  along  with  the  other  items  of 
the  Ravengar  estate. 

Lady  Walden  made  an  ideal  hostess,  and  the  guests 
whispered  in  secret  that  if  the  rumour  were  true  that  her 
own  family  was  not  of  the  highest,  her  beauty  and 
sprightliness  amply  compensated  for  the  deficiency. 
From  her  manner  one  would  have  thought  her  the  hap 
piest  lady  in  the  county.  Once  only  did  she  give  evi 
dence  of  the  real  feeling  that  lay  masked  beneath  her 
pleasant  exterior,  and  that  was  when  the  Mayor  of 
Ormsby,  standing  upon  the  flight  of  steps  leading  up  to  the 
grand  entrance  of  Ravenhall,  read  a  long  address  to  Ivar, 
congratulating  him  on  the  attainment  of  his  majority,  and 
expressing  the  hope  that  both  the  viscount  and  his  lady 
might  long  live  to  enjoy  their  exalted  rank.  At  this 
Lorelie's  lips  curved  for  a  moment  into  a  bitter  smile,  and 

319 


The  Viking's  Skull 

she  cast  a  significant  glance  at  Beatrice,  who  was  seldom 
absent  from  her  side  that  day.  To  those  who  noted  the 
smile  it  recurred  with  peculiar  force  upon  the  morrow. 

With  the  coming  of  twilight  Beatrice  stole  away  from 
the  company  to  a  private  portion  of  the  park,  taking  her 
course  towards  a  little  gateway  in  the  western  wall. 
Near  this  gate  was  a  wooden  bench,  and  seating  herself 
upon  it  she  drew  forth  a  telegram  and  glanced  at  the 
message  it  contained,  which  was  singularly  brief:  — 
"  Will  be  at  the  place  appointed  by  seven  o'clock." 

The  sender  of  this  telegram  was  punctual  to  the 
minute.  St.  Oswald's  Church  clock  was  chiming  the  hour 
when  there  came  a  knocking  at  the  wicket-gate.  In 
stantly  unlocking  it  Beatrice  threw  it  open,  and  stood  face 
to  face  with  Idris  Breakspear. 

She  greeted  him  with  an  air  which  Idris  intuitively  felt 
to  be  a  foreboding  of  grave  things. 

"  On  the  point  of  sailing  for  India,"  he  observed,  "  I 
received  a  letter  from  Miss  Ravengar  bidding  me  return 
at  once  to  Ormsby.  Such  a  message  cannot  be  ignored, 
and  therefore  I  am  here.  And  the  question  is, '  Why  am 
I  here  ? '  " 

"  I  have  not  sent  for  you  without  cause.  It  is  your 
duty  to  follow  me,  to  ask  no  questions,  but  to  await  de 
velopments." 

"  And  where  are  you  taking  me  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she 
locked  the  gate. 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  Beatrice,  appealing  to  an  imagi 
nary  audience.  "  His  first  utterance  is  a  defiance  of  my 
orders.  However,  I  will  answer  that  question.  You  are 
coming  with  me  to  Ravenhall." 

Impressed  by  the  oddity  of  her  manner  Idris  made 
no  demur  but  offered  his  arm  and  accepted  her 
guidance. 

Their  way  led  by  a  private  path  amid  dense  shrubbery : 

320 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

now  and  again  through  a  long-drawn  vista  in  the  trees 
Idris  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  more  distant  portions  of  the 
park. 

The  dusk  of  a  lovely  summer's  eve  was  descending 
upon  the  lordly  terraces  and  verdant  lawns  of  Ravenhall. 
Mellowed  by  the  distance  the  music  of  a  regimental  band 
floated  on  the  air.  Al  fresco  dancing  was  taking  place 
beside  the  margin  of  a  grey -gleaming  lake.  Above  was 
a  sky  of  darkest  blue  :  below,  the  myriad  lanterns  shining 
amid  the  dark  foliage  made  the  park  appear  like  a  scene 
from  fairyland. 

Idris  contemplated  the  picture  with  mixed  feelings. 
If — and  it  was  a  very  great  "  if,"  he  admitted —  Lorelie 
was  right  in  asserting  that  he  himself  was  the  true  Earl  of 
Ormsby,  then  all  this  fair  estate  was  really  his.  Well,  he 
had  resigned  his  claim  in  favour  of  Lorelie,  and  would 
not  go  from  his  word.  But  not  till  this  moment  did  he 
fully  realize  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice. 

"  It  is  a  gala  day,  I  perceive,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
learned  on  my  way  from  the  station  that  Lord  Walden 
has  attained  his  majority.  He  has  a  splendid  estate  in 
futuro.  He  ought  to  be  a  proud  man  to-day." 

"  He  is  proud,  ignorant  that,  like  Agamemnon,  he  is 
treading  on  purple  to  his  doom." 

Idris  was  surprised  at  these  words,  surprised  still  more 
by  the  bitterness  with  which  Beatrice  emphasized  them. 
What  did  this  speech  portend  ? 

"  You  have  been  living  at  Ravenhall  for  the  past  two 
months,  I  understand  ?  "  he  remarked,  for  want  of  some 
thing  better  to  say. 

"  Yes,  as  Lorelie's  companion.  This  is  our  last  day 
here.  Lorelie  and  I  take  our  departure  to-night." 

Idris  was  more  mystified  than  ever.  Beatrice  smiled 
as  if  enjoying  his  perplexity. 

They  had  now  reached  the  western  wing  of  the  man- 
21  321 


The  Viking's  Skull 


sion,  and  Beatrice,  unlocking  a  small  door,  invited  Idris 
to  enter. 

"  Am  I  to  be  smuggled  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  this  once,  Cousin  Idris." 

"  Cousin  Idris,"  he  repeated,  emphasizing  the  first 
word. 

"  Did  I  say  '  cousin '  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  simulation  of 
innocence.  "  Well,  I  won't  withdraw  the  term.  Let  it 
remain." 

Idris  stared  hard  at  her,  trying  to  read  her  thoughts. 
If  he  were  really  a  Ravengar  it  might  be  that  he  was 
cousin  to  Beatrice.  Was  it  possible  that  she  and  Lorelie 
had  obtained  proofs  of  this  ?  Nay,  could  it  be  true  that 
he  was  really  entitled  to  the  earldom  ?  Had  he  been 
summoned  here  by  Beatrice  to  take  part  in  some  plot  by 
which  the  earl  should  be  made  to  confess  himself  a 
usurper  ?  Full  of  wonder  he  silently  followed  his  guide. 
They  traversed  several  corridors  and  ascended  two  stair 
cases  without  encountering  any  one,  a  fact  which  led  Idris 
to  believe  that  Beatrice  had  prearranged  matters  with  a 
view  to  keeping  his  visit  a  secret.  Opening  a  door  in  an 
upper  corridor  Beatrice  drew  him  forward,  remarking : 
"  This  is  our  destination." 

Idris,  looking  around,  found  himself  in  a  dainty  little 
chamber  very  like  an  opera-box  in  appearance,  inasmuch 
as  there  was  a  sort  of  balcony  on  one  side  of  it.  Silken 
draperies  prevented  him  from  seeing  into  what  this 
balcony  projected,  but  from  below  it  there  came  the  sub 
dued  murmur  of  voices. 

"  We  are  here,"  said  Beatrice, "  to  view  Lorelie's  tragedy. 
It  is  to  be  acted  to-night,  and  in  this  little  place  you  and 
I  will  be  able  to  witness  the  play  unseen  either  by  actors 
or  audience." 

Stepping  forward  she  cautiously  put  the  curtains  aside, 
an  action  which  disclosed  the  fact  that  they  were  standing 

322 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

on  an  elevated  balcony  that  projected  into,  and  looked 
down  upon,  a  grand  Gothic  hall,  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  electric  light. 

Under  the  manipulation  of  carpenters  and  upholsterers 
the  place  had  assumed  a  somewhat  theatre-like  aspect. 
The  southern  end  of  the  hall  was  appropriated  to  the 
stage,  which  for  the  time  being  was  hidden  from  view  by 
the  folds  of  a  heavy  curtain.  The  pavement  of  the  body 
of  the  hall  was  covered  with  velvet  carpeting.  Fauteuils, 
lounges,  seats  of  every  description,  were  disposed  here 
and  there  :  and  these  were  now  becoming  occupied  by  a 
number  of  fashionably-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the 
time  fixed  for  the  beginning  of  the  performance  being 
close  at  hand. 

"  I  daresay,"  said  Beatrice, "  you  are  wondering  whether 
it  is  reasonable  on  the  part  of  Lorelie  and  myself  to  stop 
your  voyage  and  to  summon  you  here  merely  to  witness 
a  play  ?  The  sequel  will  show.  It  is  something  more 
than  a  play  that  you  are  asked  to  witness :  it  is  an  ex 
periment.  If  Lorelie  were  to  choose  a  motto  for  her 
drama  it  would  be  the  words  of  Hamlet :  — 

"  '  The  play's  the  thing 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king.'  " 

"  I  am  altogether  in  the  dark,"  said  her  companion, 
lugubriously. 

"  Be  patient,  Cousin  Idris,  and  you  shall  have  light 
anon." 

"  Cousin  Idris  again  !  Come,  if  we  really  are  cousins, 
I  shall  exercise  a  cousin's  privilege." 

So  saying  he  stole  his  arm  around  her,  and  turned  her 
pretty  face  upward  to  his  own.  And  Beatrice,  unable  to 
escape,  submitted  her  lips  to  his,  laughing,  yet  feeling 
more  disposed  to  cry,  knowing  full  well  that  there  was 
another  whom  he  would  much  rather  have  kissed. 

323 


The  Viking's  Skull 

She  broke  from  his  arms  and  essayed  to  hide  her  con 
fusion  in  the  study  of  a  playbill  printed  on  white  satin. 
Of  the  dramatis  persona,  four  names  only  were  familiar 
to  Idris. 

Rosamond  (Queen  of  the  Lombards) LADY  WALDEN. 

Alooin  (King  of  the  Lombards) LORD  WALDEN. 

Cunimund  (King  of  the  Gepidse) DR.  G.  ROTHWELL. 

Paulinus  (a  bishop) THE  EARL  OF  ORMSBY. 

"  The  earl  among  the  actors  ?  "  cried  Idris  in  surprise. 

"  The  play,  as  an  experiment,  would  be  a  failure  with 
out  him,"  returned  Beatrice,  oracularly.  "  To  persuade 
him  to  take  part  in  it  was  a  matter  requiring  very  delicate 
handling  on  the  part  of  Lorelie  and  myself.  But  we  have 
gained  our  end,  you  see." 

At  this  juncture  there  arose  the  twanging  of  violin- 
strings,  the  puffing  of  wind  instruments,  and  other  sounds 
preliminary  to  orchestral  music.  Then  in  a  moment  more 
the  overture  had  begun. 

Idris,  having  drawn  a  velvet  lounge  to  a  point  con 
venient  for  obtaining  a  clearer  view  of  the  stage,  seated 
Beatrice  beside  himself.  They  were  almost  screened  from 
sight  by  the  arrangement  of  the  silken  curtains,  and  by  a 
profusion  of  flowers  and  fernery  that  decorated  the  ex 
terior  ledge  of  the  balcony. 

The  overture  was  a  really  brilliant  piece,  but  Beatrice 
appeared  to  give  little  heed  to  it. 

"  There  was  once,"  she  murmured,  in  a  dreamy  voice, 
"  there  was  once  a  son,  who  at  the  age  of  seven  years 
promised  his  mother  on  oath  that  when  he  became  a 
man  he  would  do  his  utmost  to  clear  his  father's  name 
from  a  false  charge.  The  son  attained  manhood ;  the 
opportunity  came  for  proving  his  father's  innocence, 
and  what  did  the  son  do  ?  Nothing  !  Absolutely  noth- 
ing  ! " 

324 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

"  Would  you  have  me  darken  Lorelie's  name  ?  "  asked 
Idris,  with  a  slight  touch  of  anger  in  his  voice. 

But  without  heeding  this  interruption  Beatrice  went 
on  :  — 

"  And  therefore,  as  you  have  failed  in  your  duty, 
Lorelie  herself  will  perform  the  act  of  justice  to  the  dead. 
At  this  very  hour  two  leading  newspapers  —  the  one  in 
Paris,  the  other  in  London  —  are  setting  up  the  type  of 
an  article  entitled  '  The  story  of  an  almost  forgotten 
tragedy,'  an  article  that  will  bear  the  signature  of  Lorelie 
Rochefort.  To-morrow  morning  the  world  will  learn 
that  Eric  Marville  was  innocent  of  the  crime  laid  to  his 
charge.  And  to-night,  here,  in  this  very  hall,  Lorelie 
hopes  to  prove  who  Eric  Marville  really  was :  and  her 
experiment,  if  it  terminate  as  she  expects,  will  depress 
her  fortune  in  just  the  same  proportion  as  it  will  raise 
yours. 

"  And  this  she  does  by  way  of  making  atonement  to 
you  for  her  guilty  silence  in  the  matter  of  Eric  Marville's 
innocence.  That  silence  was  the  only  fault  in  a  life  oth 
erwise  noble  and  good ;  how  good  no  one  knows  so  well 
as  myself.  But  see  !  the  play  is  beginning." 

As  Beatrice  spoke,  the  music  of  the  orchestra  stopped 
with  a  sudden  crash.  The  electric  light  was  switched  off, 
leaving  the  body  of  the  hall  in  semi-darkness.  The  buzz 
of  conversation  ceased,  and  amid  a  death-like  silence  the 
curtain  rose  on  the  opening  act  of  the  tragedy  of  The 
Fatal  Skull. 

The  first  scene  of  this  drama  was  styled  on  the  play 
bill,  "  An  audience-chamber  in  the  palace  of  Cunimund." 

Clad  in  barbaric  splendour,  and  seated  upon  a  canopied 
throne,  was  the  royal  Cunimund,  in  the  person  of  God 
frey  Rothwell.  On  each  side  of  him  stood  armed  war 
riors  and  venerable  counsellors,  among  the  latter  being 
the  earl  himself  in  his  character  of  Bishop  Paulinus,  a 

325 


The  Viking's  Skull 

role  for  which  his  grave  and  dignified  bearing  seemed 
naturally  adapted. 

Idris  gazed  upon  the  earl  with  considerable  interest, 
beholding  him  for  the  first  time.  This  was  the  man 
whom  Lorelie  —  oddly  enough  now  it  seemed  —  had 
identified  with  his  own  father !  She  had  been  compelled 
to  admit  herself  in  error,  but  was  there  truth  in  her  other 
theory  that  the  earl  was  the  author  of  the  deed  done  in 
Ormfell?  He  turned  from  the  contemplation  of  this 
problem  to  listen  to  the  words  of  the  play. 

The  opening  speech  of  King  Cunimund,  addressed  to 
his  followers,  showed  that  he  had  assembled  them  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  audience  to  a  herald  from  the  Lombard 
king,  Alboin.  The  messenger  being  admitted,  demanded, 
on  behalf  of  his  royal  master,  the  hand  of  Cunimund's 
daughter,  the  fair  princess  Rosamond.  From  the  herald's 
address  Alboin  appeared  to  be  a  somewhat  savage  wooer, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  encamped  with  an  army  upon  the 
frontier,  prepared,  in  the  event  of  refusal,  to  ravage  the 
Gepid  kingdom  with  fire  and  sword. 

"  It  is  for  Rosamond  herself  to  decide  the  question," 
was  the  just  arbitrament  of  Cunimund,  when  the  herald 
had  finished  his  oration. 

So  a  messenger  was  despatched  off  the  stage  to  bring 
in  the  princess.  Then,  from  the  right  wing,  to  the  sound 
of  music  soft  and  sweet,  Lorelie  entered  in  the  character 
of  Rosamond,  the  limelight  playing  with  enchanting 
effect  over  the  curves  of  her  graceful  figure  and  over  the 
silken  sheen  of  her  dress.  In  Idris'  eyes  she  had  never 
looked  more  lovely,  her  natural  beauty  being  enhanced 
by  the  attractions  of  art.  And  Beatrice,  watching  his 
face,  sighed,  for  she  knew  herself  to  be  forgotten. 

Idris  had  hoped  to  receive  a  glance  from  Lorelie  on 
her  entrance,  but  in  this  he  was  disappointed  :  her  whole 
soul  was  evidently  absorbed  in  the  part  she  was  playing. 

326 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

With  a  half-smile  upon  her  lip  Rosamond  listened 
while  her  father  Cunimund  briefly  explained  the  purpose 
for  which  she  had  been  summoned.  Then,  standing 
erect  with  girlish  grace  Rosamond  pleaded,  in  sweet  and 
maidenly  language,  not  to  be  given  up  to  the  will  of  a 
king  well  known  for  his  savage  character.  There  was 
something  so  pathetic  and  touching  in  her  appeal  as  she 
stood  alone  facing  the  rough  warriors,  that  tears  rose  to 
the  eyes  of  many  ladies  in  the  audience.  It  seemed  not 
to  be  acting,  but  nature  itself. 

Tumultuous  shouts  from  the  Gepid  warriors  applauded 
Rosamond's  decision,  and  the  curtain  descended  upon  an 
exciting  tableau  —  the  running  to  and  fro  of  men,  the 
buckling  on  of  armour,  and  the  giving  of  orders  for  the 
coming  fray. 

On  turning  to  ascertain  Idris'  opinion  of  the  first  act 
Beatrice  found  him  with  a  look  of  perplexity  on  his 
face. 

"  The  earl !  The  earl ! "  he  murmured.  "  Am  I 
dreaming,  or  have  I  seen  him  before  ?  His  attitude  in 
raising  his  hand  to  his  brow  recalls  a  gesture  on  the  part 
of  some  one  I  have  known  in  far-off  times.  In  his  voice, 
too,  there  is  something  familiar :  it  is  like  the  echo  of 
one  heard  in  my  childhood." 

Beatrice  gave  a  faint  cry  of  surprise. 

"  Lorelie  was  right,  then,  in  her  conjecture,"  she  said. 
"  Yes  :  Cousin  Idris,  you  have  seen  the  earl  before  under 
very  different  circumstances  from  the  present.  Patience  ! 
you  shall  learn  where  ere  long." 

Quickly  the  curtain  rose  upon  the  second  act. 

The  scene  represented  the  interior  of  a  church  by 
night.  Lamps  gleaming  from  lofty  columns  shed  a  sol 
emn  light  around. 

Rosamond  was  present  with  her  maidens  and  a  few 
armed  attendants.  Their  words  showed  that  the  Gepid 

327 


The  Viking's  Skull 

army  had  suffered  defeat.  Cunimund  himself  was  dead 
—  not  killed  in  fair  and  open  fight,  but  treacherously  as 
sassinated  by  the  bishop  Paulinus,  who  had  gone  over  to 
the  Lombard  side  in  the  midst  of  the  battle,  carrying 
with  him  the  head  of  the  fallen  king,  and  securing  by 
that  gift  the  favour  of  Alboin.  The  Lombards  were  now 
marching  upon  the  Gepid  capital,  and  Rosamond  was 
seeking  to  elude  capture  by  taking  sanctuary. 

Vain  hope !  From  without  came  cries,  the  tramp  of 
warriors,  the  clang  of  arms.  Torches  gleamed  through 
the  windows  of  the  church.  Rosamond's  attendants  tried 
to  bar  the  door :  their  feeble  efforts  yielded  to  the  supe 
rior  force  of  the  foe,  and  the  Lombards  entered  the 
church  with  Alboin  at  their  head,  the  role  of  that  king 
being  sustained  by  Ivar.  The  sanctuary  became  the 
scene  of  an  unequal  combat.  Soon  the  sword  glimmered 
in  the  grasp  of  the  last  defender,  and  the  triumphant  and 
savage  Alboin  seized  the  lovely  and  shrinking  form  of 
Rosamond. 

Not  till  Alboin  had  sworn  to  accomplish  his  purpose, 
with  or  without  marriage,  did  Rosamond  yield  her  re 
luctant  assent  to  become  his  wife.  The  ceremony  took 
place  on  the  spot,  Paulinus  himself,  the  traitor-bishop, 
performing  the  marriage-rite. 

Rosamond,  half-fainting,  was  led  by  her  attendant 
maidens  to  the  altar,  and  holding  Alboin's  hand,  was 
forced  to  utter  the  words  of  the  wedding-ritual  amid  the 
rude  shouting  of  the  Lombard  soldiery,  one  of  whom 
carried  the  head  of  Cunimund  affixed  to  the  point  of  a 
pike. 

Language  fails  to  convey  an  adequate  conception  of 
the  wild  horror  displayed  by  Rosamond  at  this  juncture 
in  being  mated  to  a  man  she  loathed,  and  by  an  ecclesi 
astic  whose  hands  were  red  with  her  father's  blood.  In 
an  agony  of  grief  and  rage  she  mingled  the  holy  words 

328 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

of  the  ritual  with  fierce  "  asides."  She  was  no  longer  the 
sweet  maiden  of  the  first  act,  but  a  woman  thirsting  for 
vengeance. 

It  struck  Idris  that  the  situation  of  Rosamond  offered 
an  analogy  to  that  of  Lorelie  herself  in  being  wedded  to 

o^ 

an  uncongenial  consort  and  living  in  daily  communion 
with  a  man  guilty  of  bloodshed.  Then  slowly  the  belief 
came  over  him  that  this  emotion  on  her  part  was  not  a 
piece  of  acting,  but  the  real  expression  of  her  feelings. 
It  was  no  mock  princess  that  he  beheld,  breathing  an 
imaginary  hatred  against  stage-foes,  but  a  wronged 
woman  animated  with  a  deadly  purpose  against  her  hus 
band  and  her  father-in-law.  What  had  happened  to 
transform  Lorelie's  sweet  and  gracious  nature  to  this  dark 
and  vengeful  mood? 

"  As  I  live,"  muttered  Idris,  when  the  curtain  had  de 
scended  upon  the  scene,  "  she  is  importing  her  own  per 
sonal  feelings  into  the  piece.  She  hates  the  earl  and 
Ivar,  and  is  laying  some  snare  for  them." 

"  You  have  hit  it,"  replied  Beatrice.  "  This  play  is  for 
their  humiliation  and  ruin." 

"  How  is  it  that  her  object  did  not  reveal  itself  to  them 
during  the  rehearsal  ?  " 

"  Because  she  did  not  act  then  in  the  same  spirit  as 
now :  and,  moreover,  she  will  insert  some  words  not  in 
the  printed  edition  of  her  play  in  order  to  mark  their 
effect  upon  the  earl.  There  will  be  no  need  to  ask  what 
words,  or  for  what  purpose  uttered  :  you  will  know  as 
soon  as  you  hear.  See  !  "  exclaimed  Beatrice,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  suppressed  excitement,  "  the  third  act  is 
beginning." 

As  the  curtain  ascended  again  a  murmur  of  admiration 
rose  from  the  audience  at  the  beauty  of  the  tableau  re 
vealed  to  view.  The  scene  represented  the  refectory  of 
a  palace,  and  was  so  arranged  that  the  actual  walls  of  the 

329 


The  Viking's  Skull 

Gothic  hall  in  which  the  audience  sat  formed  the  wings 
and  rear  of  the  stage  scenery,  thus  producing  an  effect 
more  realistic  than  could  have  been  attained  by  painted 
canvas.  A  spacious  and  splendid  arched  casement  facing 
the  audience  made  a  part  of  this  refectory  ;  the  scene  had 
been  purposely  timed  with  regard  to  the  moon's  course, 
and  it  was  no  mock  planet,  but  the  real  silver  orb  of 
night  that  shone  through  the  panes  of  stained  glass  from 
a  sky  of  darkest  blue.  The  moonlight  without  con 
trasted  curiously  with  the  glow  cast  by  the  lamps  pendent 
from  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  supposed  banqueting  hall. 

A  feast  was  taking  place,  given  by  King  Alboin  to 
celebrate  his  victory  over  Cunimund.  Historically  speak 
ing,  the  memorable  and  fatal  banquet  with  which  the 
name  of  Rosamond  is  associated,  happened  several  years 
after  the  defeat  of  the  Gepid  king,  but  for  the  sake  of 
dramatic  effect  Lorelie  had  represented  it  as  the  immedi 
ate  consequence  of  that  defeat. 

Robed  in  purple,  and  with  a  jewelled  diadem  upon  his 
head,  sat  Alboin,  and  beside  him,  and  now  his  chief 
counsellor,  the  traitor-bishop  Paulinus,  whose  episcopal 
attire  was  stiff  with  brocade  and  gems.  Disposed  along 
the  board  with  picturesque  effect  were  the  Lombard  chiefs 
and  warriors,  all  arrayed  in  gleaming  mail. 

The  royal  table  glittered  with  a  profusion  of  plate. 
The  shelves  of  a  carved  oaken  sideboard  were  filled  with 
a  variety  of  golden  and  silver  vessels.  The  stage  twin 
kled  with  so  many  dazzling  points  of  light  that  it  became 
hurtful  to  gaze  too  long  upon  it.  All  the  Ravengar 
heirlooms  were  being  paraded  in  this  banqueting-scene, 
probably  to  impress  the  visitors  with  the  extent  of  the 
Ravengar  wealth. 

"  Are  those  jewels,  and  is  that  plate  real  ?  "  muttered 
Idris,  examining  them  through  a  lorgnette. 

"  All  genuine,  and  not  stage-property.  I  was  once 

330 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

promised,"  murmured  Beatrice  in  a  dreamy  manner,  "  I 
was  once  promised  a  moiety  of  that  wealth.  —  I  wonder, 
Cousin  Idris,  whether  you  will  keep  your  word  :  for  it  is 
all  yours,  or  soon  will  be." 

Idris  did  not  catch  the  last  part  of  her  utterance,  but 
he  had  heard  enough  to  understand  whence  came  all  this 
display. 

"  The  Viking's  treasure ! "  he  cried  in  wonderment. 
"  But  that  blue-gleaming  cup  that  the  earl  is  lifting  to  his 
lips  !  —  that  cannot  be  a  sapphire :  it  must  be  coloured 
glass." 

"  It  is  a  real  gem,  I  assure  you.  Isn't  it  a  lovely  thing? 
There  cannot  be  its  equal  in  the  wide  world.  And  think 
of  it !  Ivar  was  on  the  point  of  selling  it,  and  other 
rarities,  but  fortunately,  Lorelie  stopped  him  in  time. 
But  I'll  reserve  that  story." 

The  walls  of  the  supposed  banqueting  hall  were  hung 
with  tapestry,  sufficient  in  length  to  drape  both  the  wings 
and  the  background.  This  arras,  decorated  with  figures 
in  needlework,  was  obviously  very  ancient,  apparently 
one  of  the  Ravengar  heirlooms  employed  to  give  an  air 
of  antiquity  to  the  refectory-scene. 

It  was  somewhat  difficult  to  obtain  a  clear  view  of  this 
tapestry  owing  to  the  intervention  of  the  banqueting- 
table  and  the  picturesque  figures  grouped  around  it ;  but, 
bringing  his  lorgnette  to  bear  upon  such  parts  of  it  as 
were  visible,  Idris  observed  that  one  of  its  needlework 
pictures  was  subscribed  with  the  words:  — "  ORMUS 

HlLDAM    NUBIT." 

"  Orm  weds  Hilda,"  he  muttered.  "  By  heaven  !  that 
is  the  tapestry  that  once  decorated  the  interior  of  the 
Viking's  tomb ! " 

"  True,"  returned  Beatrice.  "  But  —  we  are  losing  the 
words  of  the  play." 

This  last  was  quite  true.  So  occupied  had  Idris  been 
331 


The  Viking's  Skull 

in  contemplating  the  scenic  effects,  that  he  had  not  yet 
caught  a  word  of  the  act  then  in  progress. 

Fixing  his  attention  upon  the  dialogue  Idris  noticed 
that  Alboin  (or  Ivar)  was  inviting  his  companions-in 
arms  to  drink  to  their  recent  victory.  While  speaking 
he  lifted  on  high  his  own  goblet,  a  goblet  of  a  very  curi 
ous  character,  for  it  was  fashioned  from  a  human  skull, 
supposedly  that  of  the  fallen  Cunimund.  The  upper 
portion  of  the  cranium  had  been  sawn  off,  and  being  at 
tached  to  the  lower  part  by  silver  hinges,  formed  the  lid 
of  the  grim  drinking-vessel. 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  relic  taken  by  you  from 
Ormfell  ?  "  asked  Beatrice. 

"  That  cup  is  not  the  '  Viking's  '  skull,"  returned  Idris 
decisively,  as  he  surveyed  it  through  his  glasses.  "  Its 
colour  is  white :  mine  was  a  yellowish-brown.  Now, 
notice  the  lid ;  it  is  lifted  and  turned  towards  us  :  it 
ought  to  contain  a  circular  perforation,  but  there  is 
none,  you  see.  Trust  me,  I  know  my  relic  too  well  to 
be  deceived." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Cousin  Idris :  the  cup  now  in 
Ivar's  hands  is  not  the  '  Viking's '  skull ;  being  merely 
the  one  used  in  the  rehearsal.  It  would  have  been  a  be 
traying  of  her  purpose  had  Lorelie  employed  the  real  relic, 
but  it  will  make  its  appearance  soon." 

She  turned  her  attention  to  the  dialogue  again,  and 
Idris  did  the  same,  wondering  what  the  end  of  it 
would  be. 

Extending  the  skull-cup  to  a  slave,  Ivar-Alboin  cried, 
in  the  words  of  history  :  — 

"  Fill  this  goblet  to  the  brim  :  carry  it  to  the  queen,  and 
bid  her  in  my  name  drink  to  the  memory  of  her  father." 

The  attendant  poured  wine  into  the  cup  and  carried  it 
off  the  stage  for  the  purpose  of  presenting  it  to  Queen 
Rosamond.  And  pre-informed  by  Beatrice  Idris  knew 

332 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

that  the  goblet  carried  out  would  not  be  the  same  as  that 
which  would  be  brought  in.  Lorelie  would  enter  with 
the  identical  skull  taken  from  Ormfell.  Why  should 
this  be  ?  He  awaited  the  sequel  with  breathless  interest, 
an  interest  that  would  have  been  far  more  intense  had 
he  known  with  what  person  Godfrey  had  connected  this 
same  skull.  But  some  things  had  been  kept  from  the 
knowledge  of  Idris,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 

The  advent  of  Queen  Rosamond  was  heralded  by 
music  of  a  singular  character.  The  softer  and  more 
melodious  instrument  ceased,  and  there  arose  a  threnody 
drawn  entirely  from  violin-chords  and  from  the  metallic 
wires  of  the  harp  —  a  threnody  that  was  staccato, 
shivering,  weird.  The  faint  whisperings  which  had  been 
going  on  here  and  there  among  the  audience  instantly 
ceased :  every  one  sat  spellbound,  thrilled  with  awe  by 
that  unearthly  music,  as  if  it  were  a  prelude  to  the 
entrance  of  Death  himself. 

Idris  recognized  the  air  as  the  requiem  that  was  never 
heard  except  at  the  death  of  a  Ravengar.  That  it  should 
now  be  played  seemed  suggestive  of  some  coming 
tragedy.  He  learned  from  Beatrice  that  this  requiem 
had  formed  no  part  of  the  rehearsals :  and,  indeed,  the 
wondering  looks  interchanged  among  the  amateurs  on 
the  stage  showed  that  it  came  upon  them  as  a  surprise. 
Idris  was  not  slow  to  mark  the  perturbed  air  of  the  earl- 
bishop.  If  it  were  Lorelie's  object  to  unnerve  him,  she 
had  to  some  extent  succeeded. 

Amid  this  eerie  refrain  Queen  Rosamond  slowly  en 
tered  the  banqueting  hall,  carrying  in  her  hands  the  dread 
cup,  the  fatal  skull  of  her  father  Cunimund.  The  eyes 
of  every  one,  both  on  and  off  the  stage,  \vere  riveted 
upon  her  movements.  She  had  exhibited  splendid  act 
ing  in  the  two  previous  scenes  ;  was  she  now  about  to 
surpass  herself? 

333 


The  Viking's  Skull 

She  was  robed  in  a  vesture  of  violet  satin,  embroidered 
with  gold,  that  shimmered  as  she  moved ;  and  in  her 
flowing  raven  hair  there  gleamed  an  ornament  that  gave 
Idris  a  thrill  of  surprise,  for  he  immediately  recognized 
it  as  the  stiletto  hair-pin  that  had  wrought  the  fatal  deed 
in  Ormfell. 

By  aid  of  the  lorgnette  he  surveyed  the  object  she  was 
carrying.  Yes :  that  golden-brown  thing  was  indeed 
the  '  Viking's  skull,'  set  in  silver,  and  mounted  as  a  cup 
—  a  cup  in  appearance  only,  for  the  cranium  was  perfect 
and  entire,  and  had  not  been  fashioned  into  a  lid. 

Rosamond  had  entered  through  an  arched  door  in  the 
wall  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  stage.  Ivar-Alboin's 
throne  was  on  the  extreme  left,  and  therefore  to  reach 
him  it  was  necessary  to  traverse  the  entire  length  of  the 
stage. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  she  advanced  with  silent  and 
majestic  tread,  holding  aloft  the  fatal  skull. 

To  Idris,  the  moment  was  one  of  thrilling  interest.  He 
felt  that  the  crucial  point  of  the  experiment  had  come : 
the  object  for  which  Lorelie  had  caused  her  play  to  be 
staged  was  now  about  to  be  disclosed. 

Not  a  word  passed  Lorelie's  lips  as  she  moved  forward, 
the  ghostly  tremolo  music  going  on  all  the  time.  She 
looked  neither  to  right  nor  left :  she  had  eyes  for  one 
person  only,  and  that  was  the  earl,  and  him  she  regarded 
with  the  air  of  a  triumphant  accuser. 

And  the  earl,  observant  of  her  manner,  and  always  sus 
picious  of  her  since  that  memorable  night  in  the  vault, 
dreading  lest  she  should  have  divined  his  purpose  in 
taking  her  there,  grew  troubled.  It  began  to  dawn  upon 
him  that  Lorelie  had  an  ulterior  purpose  in  staging  her 
play,  a  purpose  fraught  with  ill  to  himself.  His  eye 
rested  on  the  skull  she  was  carrying :  he  noted  the  dif 
ference,  yet  no  inkling  of  her  real  aim  entered  his  mind. 

334 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

He  stared  at  her,  trying  to  read  her  thoughts  :  she  re 
turned  his  gaze  :  their  looks  became  a  silent  duel. 

At  last  she  reached  the  place  where  Alboin  sat.  The 
shivering  music  came  to  an  end,  enabling  her  voice  to  be 
heard. 

"  Ere  I  comply  with  my  lord-king's  request,"  she  said, 
addressing  Ivar,  and  using  the  words  of  the  play,  "  let 
me  learn  from  whose  skull  I  drink." 

She  set  the  relic  upon  the  table,  keeping  one  hand  over 
the  cranium.  Idris  felt  that  she  did  this  for  the  purpose 
of  hiding  the  fatal  perforation.  But  though  her  words 
were  addressed  to  Ivar,  she  did  not  for  one  moment  re 
move  her  eyes  from  the  earl's  face. 

"  It  is  the  skull  of  thy  late  sire,  the  royal  Cunimund." 

"  Not  so,  husband  mine,"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  voice  that  startled  everybody  present,  actors 
and  spectators  alike,  "  not  so  !  Let  us  leave  acting  and 
be  real.  —  Tell  me,  my  lord  of  Ravenhall,"  she  said, 
bending  over  the  table  and  addressing  the  earl  in  a  thrill 
ing  sibilant  whisper  that  penetrated  to  every  part  of  the 
hall,  "  tell  me,  whose  skull  is  this  f" 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  skull  and  pointed  to 
the  orifice  in  the  cranium. 

A  strange  gasp  broke  from  the  earl.  He  cast  one 
glance  of  fear  at  Lorelie,  and  then  sat  with  parted  lips 
and  dilated  eyes  staring  at  the  thing  before  him.  Lo- 
relie's  significant  manner,  his  own  guilty  conscience,  the 
circular  perforation  in  the  occiput,  were  sufficient  to  tell 
him  whose  skull  it  was.  In  one  swift  awful  moment  he 
realized  that  his  secret  was  known  to  the  woman  whom 
he  had  most  reason  to  fear,  and  he  intuitively  divined 
that  she  was  about  to  make  it  known  to  all  present. 
And  then  ?  He  gasped  for  breath  ;  his  throat  seemed 
to  be  compressed  :  he  twitched  at  it  with  his  ringers  as 
if  to  loosen  some  tightly-drawn  noose. 

335 


The  Viking's  Skull 

He  knew  now  why  she  had  shewn  such  persistency  in 
urging  him  to  take  part  in  the  play.  "  Only  a  minor 
part,  a  few  words  to  utter,  nothing  more,"  had  been  her 
plea.  He  knew  now  why  she  had  flattered,  insisted, 
threatened  :  her  motive  was  to  surprise  and  confuse  him  : 
to  entrap  him  into  a  confession  by  suddenly  producing 
the  skull  before  his  eyes. 

And  she  had  nearly  succeeded.  Sudden  amazement 
had  almost  wrung  the  secret  from  him.  He  compressed 
his  lips  tightly  :  he  must  not  speak,  lest  by  some  incau 
tious  word  he  should  betray  himself.  Silence  !  Silence  ! 
there  lay  his  safety.  With  such  cunning  had  he  overlaid 
all  traces  of  the  crime  that  it  could  not  be  proved  except 
by  his  own  confession. 

The  audience,  after  a  glance  at  the  play-book,  looked 
at  each  other  in  bewilderment,  wondering  why  the  vis 
countess  had  departed  from  the  written  words  of  her 
drama.  Instead  of  playing  as  finely  as  heretofore  she 
had  actually  committed  the  gross  blunder  of  addressing 
the  Bishop  Paulinus  as,  "  My  lord  of  Ravenhall !  " 

Receiving  no  answer  to  her  question,  for  the  earl  sat 
silent  and  motionless,  Lorelie  rested  her  hand  upon  the 
table,  lightly  shook  the  sleeve  of  her  silken  dress,  and  the 
next  moment  the  runic  altar-ring  was  sparkling  on  her 
wrist. 

"  By  the  sacred  ring  of  Odin,  stolen  by  you  from 
Edith  Breakspear,  I  adjure  you,  speak  !  Whose  skull  is 
this  ?  " 

Something  like  a  groan  issued  from  the  earl's  lips. 
So,  his  theft  of  the  ring  was  likewise  known  to  this  ter 
rible  woman  !  —  a  theft  committed  so  long  ago  that  it  had 
almost  faded  from  his  memory  :  and,  lo !  here  the  deed 
was,  starting  up  to  confront  him  after  a  lapse  of  twenty- 
three  years  ! 

For  a  moment  he  forgot  his  present  position :  the 
336 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

stage,  the  lights,  the  audience,  all  were  gone.  He  found 
himself  again  in  that  quiet  twilight  chamber  at  Quilaix  ; 
again  he  saw  the  sad  eyes,  the  pale  face  of  the  woman 
from  whom  he  had  taken  the  ring  :  again  her  solemn  ut 
terance  sounded  in  his  ears  :  —  "If  it  should  bring  upon 
you  the  curse  which  it  has  brought  upon  me  and  mine, 
you  will  live  to  rue  this  day." 

The  voice  of  Lorelie  speaking  again,  roused  him  from 
his  reverie. 

"  By  this  hoarded  treasure,  gained  at  the  price  of  blood, 
I  adjure  you,  speak  !  Whose  skull  is  this  ?  " 

Mechanically  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  festal-board 
with  its  array  of  plate  and  jewels.  The  splendid  parade 
of  wealth  made  his  present  position  only  the  more 
ghastly.  Like  a  spectre  from  the  tomb  Nemesis  arose 
to  mock  him  amid  the  very  riches  which  his  guilt  had 
purchased. 

A  silence  had  fallen  both  upon  actors  and  audience. 
They  had  begun  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  true  meaning 
of  this  strange  tableau.  As  motionless  as  statues  they 
sat :  they  scarcely  breathed :  it  would  have  required  an 
earthquake  or  the  conflagration  of  the  hall  itself  to  have 
moved  them. 

In  silent  despair  the  earl  looked  around  upon  the  array 
of  still  faces  set  with  earnest  attention  upon  him,  and 
then  he  turned  again  to  the  skull.  All  lifeless  as  it  was, 
it  was  victor  over  him  to-day.  It  seemed  to  be  grinning 
at  him  in  conscious  mockery.  Powerless  itself  to  speak 
it  had  found  a  mouthpiece,  an  avenger,  in  the  person  of 
Lorelie. 

Why  had  he  allowed  this  woman  to  leave  the  secret 
vault,  where  her  life  had  been  in  his  hands  ?  He  might 
have  known  that  she  would  never  rest  till  she  had 
avenged  herself  upon  him. 

He  looked  into  the  depth  of  her  dark  blue  eyes  — 
22  337 


The  Viking's  Skull 

eyes  that  were  steeled  to  pity.  "  Like  for  like,"  they 
seemed  to  say :  she  would  show  him  the  same  mercy  that 
he  would  have  shown  her,  though  in  truth,  Lorelie 
thought  not  of  herself,  but  of  the  dead  Eric  Marville,  so 
cruelly  wronged  both  by  her  father  and  herself:  Eric 
Marville,  who  had  generously  refrained  from  claiming  the 
peerage  justly  his  in  order  that  the  present  earl  might 
enjoy  it.  And  he  had  received  his  death-stroke  from  the 
hand  of  the  very  man  whom  he  had  benefited  !  Was 
this  a  case  for  pity  ! 

"  By  yon  tapestry,  silent  witness  of  the  deed,  I  adjure 
you,  speak  !  Whose  skull  is  this  ?  " 

A  portion  of  the  arras  within  view  of  the  earl  was 
clutched  from  behind  by  an  unseen  hand,  and  was  sud 
denly  rent  in  twain  from  top  to  bottom  with  a  sharp 
ripping  sound:  then  came  the  fall  of  some  dull  body, 
(though  nothing  was  seen  by  the  audience),  followed  by 
a  faint  soughing  like  an  expiring  breath. 

The  earl  shook  convulsively.  The  very  sounds  that 
had  accompanied  the  fall  of  his  victim  in  Ormfell ! 

With  slow  motion  Lorelie  raised  her  hand  to  her  head. 
The  earl  followed  her  action  with  his  eyes,  wondering 
what  new  terror  was  in  store  for  him.  Drawing  the 
broken  stiletto  pin  from  her  hair  she  placed  the  fragment 
of  the  blade  within  the  orifice  of  the  skull,  where  it  re 
mained,  the  jewelled  hilt  projecting  above,  and  glittering 
with  weird  effect. 

"  By  the  very  stiletto  that  let  out  the  life  of  your 
victim,  I  adjure  you,  speak  !  Whose  skull  is  this  ?  " 

She  was  determined  to  have  her  answer,  and  that 
openly. 

In  darkness  and  secrecy  the  deed  had  been  wrought : 
amid  brilliant  light  and  before  a  crowd  of  hearers  the 
truth  should  be  proclaimed.  Like  some  struggling 
victim  in  the  torture-chamber,  who,  doggedly  speech- 

338 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

less,  is  forced  onward  to  the  rack  that  will  soon  wring 
the  confession  from  his  reluctant  lips,  so  the  earl,  in 
dumb  agony,  felt  himself  drawn  onward  to  tell  the  dread 
secret  of  his  life. 

The  jewelled  hilt  of  the  stiletto  protruding  from  the 
skull  exercized  a  fascination  over  him  :  he  could  not  take 
his  gaze  from  it :  like  a  gleaming  eye  it  seemed  to  be 
commanding  him  to  admit  his  guilt. 

Idris,  attentive  to  every  variation  in  the  face  of  the 
earl,  saw  that  he  was  sinking  into  a  cataleptic  state. 
Unable  to  obtain  the  required  confession  in  any  other 
way  Lorelie  had  resorted  to  her  knowledge  of 
hypnotism,  and  had  found  the  earl  powerless  to  resist 
her  mesmeric  influence. 

"  Speak !  Whose  skull  is  this  ? "  she  asked  once 
more. 

"  My  brother's" 

The  earl  spoke  like  an  automaton,  in  a  tone,  cold, 
mechanical,  passionless  —  a  tone  he  maintained  through 
out  the  whole  of  his  subsequent  answering. 

A  wave  of  surprise  passed  over  the  audience.  Till 
that  moment  it  had  not  been  known  that  Urien 
Ravengar,  the  preceding  earl,  had  had  more  than  one 
son. 

"  When  did  your  brother  die  ?  " 

"  Twenty-one  years  ago." 

"  In  what  place  did  he  die?  " 

"  In  the  interior  of  Ormfell." 

"  How  came  he  to  die  ?  " 

"  /  killed  him  !  " 

At  this  answer  a  thrill  prevaded  the  assembly.  Half- 
articulate  screams  arose  from  the  ladies.  From  fair 
jewelled  hands  play-bills  and  books  of  the  words  slid  to 
the  floor.  There  they  lay  unheeded,  being  no  longer 
required.  The  sham-tragedy  was  over :  a  new  and  un- 

339 


The  Viking's  Skull 

rehearsed  drama  of  real  life  was  taking  place  before 
their  eyes,  and  the  audience  bent  forward  to  watch  and 
to  listen. 

Ivar,  with  a  troubled  look,  rose  at  this  point  and  made 
an  attempt  to  stay  Lorelie's  action. 

"  Let  down  the  curtain,"  he  cried  to  an  attendant  in 
the  wings.  "  What  devil's  work  is  this  ?  "  he  continued, 
turning  fiercely  upon  his  wife.  "  Let  it  cease  !  Restore 
my  father  to  his  normal  state.  You  have  mesmerized 
him,  and,  mistress  of  his  mind,  you  are  making  him  say 
whatever  you  wish.  Do  you  think  that  any  one  here  be 
lieves  him  ?  " 

One  word  from  her,  one  imperious  gesture,  one  flash 
of  her  eyes,  was  sufficient  to  quell  Ivar's  opposition. 

"  Malvazia  !  "  she  whispered,  pointing  to  the  sapphire 
cup. 

The  viscount  shrank  back,  knowing  that  the  hour  of 
his  fall  and  humiliation  was  at  hand. 

"  Let  none  intervene,"  said  Lorelie,  addressing  her 
audience  with  quiet  dignity. 

And  during  the  remainder  of  the  scene  there  was 
neither  movement  nor  sound  on  the  part  of  the 
spectators,  not  even  from  Idris  and  Ivar,  the  two  persons 
most  interested  in  the  dialogue. 

In  cold  measured  tones  Lorelie  proceeded  with  her 
merciless  catechism. 

"  Was  he  a  younger  brother  ?  " 

"  My  senior  by  three  years." 

"  Why  was  he  not  acknowledged  by  your  father,  the 
late  earl  ?  " 

"  He  was  the  son  of  a  secret  marriage  —  a  marriage 
with  a  village  maiden  named  Agnes  Marville." 

"  Where  can  the  record  of  this  marriage  be  found  ?  " 

"  In  the  parish  church  of  Oakhurst  in  Kent." 

"  Your  father  did  not  tell  this  Agnes  that  he  was  a 

340 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

peer  of  the  realm :  and,  as  soon  as  a  son  was  born,  he 
deserted  her :  nay,  more,  while  she  was  still  living  he 
made  a  second  marriage,  which,  therefore,  renders  your 
own  birth  illegitimate.  Is  not  this  so  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  When  did  the  son  of  this  Agnes  discover  that  he  was 
the  rightful  heir  of  Ravenhall  ?  " 

"  On  attaining  manhood." 

"  What  course  did  he  take  ?  " 

"  He  wrote  a  letter  to  my  father  to  the  effect  that  as 
that  father  had  repudiated  him  in  infancy  he  on  his  part 
would  accept  the  repudiation." 

"  And  so,  waiving  his  just  rights,  he  went  to  live  in 
Brittany  under  the  name  of  Eric  Marville.  Why  did 
you,  too,  leave  England  about  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  The  letter  written  by  Eric  fell  into  my  hands  and 
caused  a  quarrel  between  my  father  and  myself." 

"  Did  you,  when  abroad,  ever  see  your  half-brother  ?  " 

"  During  his  trial  I  stood  among  the  spectators." 

"  Did  you  not  make  yourself  known  to  him  ?  " 

«  No,  for  I  hated  him." 

"  Did  you  show  your  hatred  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  I  secretly  promised  his  prosecuting  counsel  a  large 
sum  if  he  should  secure  a  conviction." 

"  How  long  did  you  remain  abroad  ?  " 

"  Ten  years." 

"  And  by  a  strange  coincidence  on  the  very  night  of 
your  return  to  Ravenhall  your  brother's  yacht  went  down 
in  Ormsby  Race.  You  believed  he  had  gone  down  with 
it,  till ?" 

"  Till  he  surprised  me  in  Ormfell  as  I  was  in  the  act  of 
removing  the  treasure." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  took  place." 

"  We  quarrelled.  He  had  discovered  the  part  I  had 
played  in  the  trial  at  Nantes,  and  also  that  it  was  I  who 

341 


The  Viking's  Skull 

had  taken  the  runic  ring  from  his  wife.  He  threatened 
to  assert  his  claim  to  the  earldom,  and  so  I  struck  him 
down  with  a  stiletto  hair-pin,  the  only  weapon  I  had 
upon  me  at  the  time." 

"  How  did  you  dispose  of  the  body  ?  " 

"  I  left  it,  covered  with  quicklime,  in  Ormfell,  so  that, 
if  ever  discovered,  it  might  be  taken  for  the  remains  of 
some  ancient  warrior." 

"  Did  your  brother  have  any  children  ?  " 

"  One  son." 

"  Who  is,  of  course,  the  rightful  earl  of  Ormsby.  By 
what  name  is  this  son  known  ?  " 

"  Idris  Breakspear." 

Lorelie  put  no  more  questions.  She  had  discovered 
what  she  wished.  Light  had  been  cast  on  dark  places 
and  all  was  clear.  She  had  made  her  atonement  to 
Idris  :  and,  with  a  significant  glance  at  the  balcony  where 
he  sat,  she  waved  her  hand,  and  at  that  signal  the  curtain 
descended. 

Ere  the  amazed  audience  had  time  to  exchange  re 
marks  the  earl's  voice  was  again  heard,  proceeding  from 
the  other  side  of  the  curtain. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Ivar  ? "  he  cried,  in  wild  staccato 
utterances.  "  I  have  accused  myself  ...  of  mur 
der  ?  .  .  .  That  my  title  .  .  .  and  yours  .  .  . 
are  invalid  ?  It  is  false  !  .  .  .  Gentlemen,  I  am  not 
responsible  ...  for  my  utterances  .  .  .  This 
woman  hates  me  .  .  .  She  is  a  hypnotizer  .  .  . 
has  taken  my  mind  captive  .  .  .  made  me  say  .  .  . 
whatever  suits  her  purpose  .  .  .  Pay  no  heed  to 
anything  I  have  said  ...  in  this  state  .  .  . 
of- 

His  utterance  was  checked  by  a  fit  of  coughing,  fol 
lowed  by  a  strange  gasp,  and  then  all  was  still. 

The  next  moment  one  of  the  amateur  actors  appeared 

342 


The  Vengeance  of  the  Skull 

at  the  side  of  the  stage-curtain  and  beckoned  to  Godfrey, 
who,  his  part  having  ceased  with  the  first  act,  had  taken 
his  place  amongst  the  audience.  The  surgeon  passed 
behind  the  curtain,  then  quickly  reappeared. 

"  Get  the  company  away  as  quickly  as  can  be  man 
aged,"  he  whispered  to  the  steward  of  Ravenhall,  "  the 
earl  is  dead  !  " 


343 


CHAPTER  XX 

FINALE 

"  f'  •  AHE  earl  dead!"  murmured  Beatrice  in  a  tone 
of  awe.  "  Death  !  That  was  no  part  of  Lore- 
JL  lie's  design."  And,  after  a  brief  pause,  she 
added,  "  It  is  the  judgment  of  God." 

Awe-struck  by  the  terrible  ending  of  the  play  the 
whispering  guests  began  a  hurried  departure.  Idris, 
however,  at  Godfrey's  suggestion,  remained  behind. 

The  body  of  Olave  Ravengar,  un-lawful  Earl  of 
Ormsby,  was  carried  to  the  chamber  usually  assigned  to 
the  lying-in-state  of  the  dead  lords  of  Ravenhall. 

Having  attended  to  this  duty  Ivar,  passing  through 
the  entrance-hall,  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Idris  in  con 
versation  with  Godfrey. 

For  a  moment  he  stared  superciliously  at  his  rival. 

"  Impostor ! "  he  muttered,  with  affected  indignation. 
"  John  !  Roger !  "  he  continued,  addressing  two  tall 
footmen  who  stood  near,  "  put  this  fellow  outside  the 
park  gates." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Godfrey,  quietly,  "  as  your  title  is  at 
present  in  question,  it  will  be  well  to  wait  till  it  be  legally 
ascertained  whether  you  have  the  right  to  give  orders 
here." 

Ivar  scowled,  first  at  the  speaker,  then  at  the  throng 
of  mute  and  immovable  servants,  who  showed  little  dis 
position  to  acknowledge  his  authority. 

His  mind  reverted  to  Lorelie,  the  author  of  this,  his 
downfall:  had  she  chosen  to  keep  his  secret  he  might 
have  retained  his  usurped  rank.  She  should  suffer  for 

344 


Finale 

this :  she  at  least  was  his,  if  Ravenhall  were  not,  and  he 
would  exercise  his  authority  by  applying  a  horsewhip  to 
her  shoulders.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  hear  her 
screams  !  Yes :  he  would  do  it,  though  his  father  were 
lying  dead  in  the  house.  There  was  an  additional  pleas 
ure  in  the  thought  that  by  subjecting  Lorelie  to  indignity 
and  humiliation  he  would  be  mortifying  Idris. 

"Where  is  Lady  Walden?"  he  demanded,  turning 
upon  one  of  the  servants.  "  I  must,"  he  continued, 
with  an  ugly  smile  at  Idris,  "  I  must  have  a  word  with 
her." 

"  Your  wife  —  she  repudiates  the  title  of  Lady  Walden 
—  is  now  at  Wave  Crest,"  replied  Godfrey.  "  I  am  de 
sired  by  her  to  state  that  you  will  never  see  her  again." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  sneered  Ivar,  haughtily.  "  She  shall  re 
turn.  A  wife's  place  is  by  her  husband's  side." 

"  That  sentiment  comes  with  an  ill  grace  from  an 
adulterer  who  once  offered  his  wife  poison  to  drink,"  re 
sponded  Godfrey. 

Ivar  grew  white  to  the  very  lips. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  muttered.  "  O,  I  see ! 
Some  wild  accusation  of  Lorelie's.  Honourable  gentle 
men,  ye  are  !  "  he  continued,  with  an  assumption  of  dig 
nity  that  sat  somewhat  awkwardly  upon  him.  "  Honour 
able  gentlemen,  to  corrupt  a  wife,  and  use  her  as  a  tool 
against  her  husband !  This  stage-play  of  to-night,  this 
hypnotizing  of  my  father's  mind,  this  forcing  him  to  utter 
whatever  you  wish,  has  been  very  finely  arranged  on  the 
part  of  you  all.  It  is  a  plot  to  deprive  me  of  my  rights. 
You  shall  hear  what  my  solicitor  has  to  say  on  the  matter. 
It  is  one  thing  to  claim  an  estate,  and  another  to  make 
good  the  claim." 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  Godfrey,  who  acted  as  spokesman 
for  Idris,  since  the  latter  was  too  much  bewildered  by 
the  novelty  and  strangeness  of  his  position  to  say  any- 

345 


The  Viking's  Skull 

thing  :  "  quite  so.  And  therefore  we  have  invited  your 
solicitor  to  an  interview  with  us  to-morrow  morning 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  library,  when  I  trust  you  will  be 
present,  for  we  shall  offer  you  abundant  proofs  of  our 
position." 

On  the  following  morning  Ivar  repaired  to  the  library, 
where  he  found  the  late  earl's  solicitor  in  company  with 
Idris  and  Godfrey. 

Ivar  was  well  aware  that  Idris  was  the  rightful  heir  of 
Ravenhall.  His  only  hope  was  that  the  other  might  find 
it  impossible  to  prove  the  legitimacy  of  his  title.  But  in 
this  he  was  quickly  doomed  to  disappointment. 

With  a  face  that  grew  darker  and  darker  he  listened  to 
the  evidence  that  had  been  accumulated  by  the  joint 
labours  of  Lorelie  and  Beatrice.  The  prior  and  secret 
marriage  of  the  old  earl,  Urien  Ravengar,  with  the  village 
maiden,  Agnes  Marville  :  the  birth  of  a  child  named  Eric, 
together  with  Idris'  legitimate  filiation  to  the  latter,  were 
all  clearly  set  forth. 

The  lawyer  was  at  first  disposed  to  be  sceptical,  but 
became  fully  convinced  in  the  end. 

"  I  fear  it  is  of  no  use  to  dispute  the  evidence,"  he 
whispered  to  Ivar.  "  Contest  the  claim  and  you're  sure 
to  lose.  Better  to  appeal  to  the  generosity  of  your  new 
found  cousin  and  heir,  and  try  to  come  to  some  monetary 
arrangement  with  him." 

Ivar  sat  for  a  few  minutes  in  moody  silence.  Then, 
looking  up  and  scowling  at  Idris,  he  muttered :  — 

"  If  I've  got  to  give  up  Ravenhall,  I  may  as  well 
go  at  once.  I  won't  be  beholden  to  that  fellow  for  a 
roof." 

"  Surely  you  will  remain  till  your  father's  funeral  shall 
have  taken  place  ?  "  said  Idris. 

"  Damn  the  funeral !  "  muttered  the  late  viscount, 
savagely.  "  What  good  shall  I  do  myself  by  waiting  for 

346 


Finale 

it  ?  Will  it  bring  the  governor  back  to  life  ?  I'll  not 
stay  here  to  be  pitied,  and  jeered  at,  as  the  discoroneted 
viscount.  You  killed  my  father  by  your  wiles.  You 
yourselves  can  now  bury  him." 

And  with  these  words  he  passed  through  the  door 
way  and  was  gone  :  and  even  the  coroner's  summons 
failed  to  secure  his  attendance  at  the  inquest  held  upon 
the  body  of  the  earl.  Lorelie  was  present,  and,  after 
giving  her  evidence,  quietly  withdrew,  accompanied  by 
Beatrice. 

But  when  Idris,  a  few  hours  later,  called  at  Wave 
Crest,  he  was  met  on  the  threshold  by  Beatrice  with  the 
tidings  that  Lorelie  had  left  Ormsby. 

"  Where  has  she  gone  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Beatrice,  who  looked 
the  picture  of  grief.  "  She  would  not  tell  me  her  desti 
nation  or  plans.  I  did  my  best  to  persuade  her  to  stay, 
but  in  vain." 


A  year  after  Lorelie's  disappearance  there  occurred  in 
a  society-paper  a  paragraph  relative  to  an  event  which, 
however  melancholy  in  itself,  could  scarcely  be  viewed  by 
Idris  with  any  other  feeling  than  that  of  satisfaction. 
This  event  was  the  death  of  Ivar,  who  was  said  to  have 
been  carried  off  by  fever  in  an  obscure  lodging  in  Lon 
don.  Inquiries  on  the  part  of  Idris  proved  that  the  story 
was  true :  and  he  found,  moreover,  that  Ivar,  in  his  last 
hours,  had  been  nursed  by  a  lady  whose  description  an 
swered  to  that  of  Lorelie. 

The  forgiving  and  generous  disposition  evinced  by  this 
act  did  but  endear  her  the  more  to  Idris. 

But  where  was  she  ?  He  was  certain  that  she  loved 
him.  Why  then  did  she  continue  to  hide  herself? 

All  attempts  on  his  part  to  trace  her  failed  completely : 
347 


The  Viking's  Skull 

and  a  haunting  fear  seized  him  that  she  had  retired  for 
life  to  the  seclusion  of  a  French  convent. 

Two  years  went  by,  and  Idris  had  almost  given  up  the 
hope  of  ever  seeing  her  again,  when,  passing  one  after 
noon  by  the  Church  of  St.  Oswald,  he  heard  the  sound 
of  its  organ. 

Attracted,  partly  by  the  music,  partly  by  the  thought 
that  it  was  in  this  church  that  he  had  first  set  eyes  upon 
Lorelie,  he  entered  the  Ravengar  Chantry,  and  sat  down 
to  listen. 

Something  in  the  style  of  the  music  caused  a  strange 
suspicion  to  steal  over  him.  He  rose,  walked  quietly 
forward,  and  gazed  up  at  the  organ-loft. 

The  musician  was  Lorelie  ! 

Screening  himself  from  view  he  waited  till  she  had 
finished  her  playing :  waited  till  she  had  dismissed  her 
attendant-boy,  and  then  quietly  intercepted  her  as  she 
was  passing  through  the  Ravengar  Chantry. 

She  started,  and  seemed  almost  dismayed  at  seeing  him. 

"I  —  I  did  not  know  you  were  at  Ormsby," she  mur 
mured.  "  I  thought  you  were  on  the  Continent." 

"  Lorelie,  where  have  you  been  so  long  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  living  in  the  south  of  France  for  the  past 
two  years.  A  few  days  ago  a  longing  came  upon  me  to 
see  Ormsby  once  more,  and " 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  her  eyes  drooped  as  Idris 
gently  held  her  by  the  wrists. 

"  And  now  that  you  are  here,"  he  said,  "  do  you  think 
that  I  shall  ever  let  you  go  again  ?  Lorelie,  you  know 
how  much  I  love  you.  Why,  then,  have  you  avoided 
me  ?  But  for  you  I  should  not  now  possess  a  coronet :  is 
it  not  fair  that  you  should  share  it  ?  " 

"  No  :  Idris,  this  must  not  be,"  she  murmured,  gently 
essaying  to  free  herself.  "  There  is  one  who  loves  you 
better  than  I  —  one  more  deserving  of  your  love." 

348 


Finale 

"  And  who  is  that  ?  " 

"  Beatrice." 

"  And  is  it  on  her  account  that  you  have  absented 
yourself  so  long,  willing  to  sacrifice  your  own  happiness 
to  hers  ?  Lorelie,  you  are  too  generous.  Beatrice  is  in 
deed  a  charming  and  pretty  maiden,  and  had  I  never 
seen  you  I  might  perhaps  have  loved  her.  I  had  the 
conceit  that  she  might  be  growing  fond  of  me,  so  I  took 
steps  to  cure  her  of  the  fancy." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Lorelie,  with  wondering  eyes. 

"  By  showing  her  that  there  are  much  finer  fellows  than 
myself  in  existence.  With  Godfrey's  consent  I  took  her 
to  London.  At  Ormsby  I  was  a  hero  in  her  eyes,  for 
there  were  few  here  with  whom  she  might  measure  me : 
but  in  London  it  was  different.  '  Pretty  Miss  Ravengar ' 
became  quite  an  attraction  in  Society.  Eligible  young 
men  surrounded  her,  eager  for  a  glance  and  a  smile  :  and 
—  well  —  to  make  my  story  short,  next  spring  we  shall 
have  to  address  our  little  Trixie  as  Lady  St.  Cyril.  She 
will  have  half  the  Viking's  treasure  as  her  dowry.  And 
so,  you  see,  my  sweet  countess " 

Their  lips  drew  near  and  met  in  one  long,  clinging 
kiss. 

In  the  circle  of  Idris'  arms  Lorelie  found  a  refuge  from 
all  her  past  troubles.  Fair  and  clear  before  her  the  future 
lay  like  a  sunny  sparkling  lake  with  one  barque  gliding 
over  it :  Idris  was  the  steersman,  and  she  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  lie  back  on  silken  pillows,  still  and  happy,  and 
float  wherever  he  chose  to  direct. 


THE  END 


349 


By  the  Author  of  "The  Vikings  Skull" 

THE 
SHADOW  OF  THE  CZAR 

By  JOHN  R.  CARLING 

Illustrated.     12mo.     $1.50.     Fifth  Edition 


"  An  engrossing  romance  of  the  sturdy,  wholesome  sort, 
in  which  the  action  is  never  allowed  to  drag,"  (St.  Louis 
Globe-Democrat)  best  describes  this  popular  novel.  "  The 
Shadow  of  the  Czar "  is  a  stirring  story  of  the  romantic 
attachment  of  a  dashing  English  officer  for  Princess  Bar 
bara,  of  the  old  Polish  Principality  of  Czernova,  and  the 
conspiracy  of  the  Duke  of  Bora,  aided  by  Russia,  to  dis 
possess  the  Princess  of  her  throne. 

It  is  not  an  historical  novel  —  the  author  makes  his  own 
events  after  the  manner  of  Anthony  Hope,  and  the  Boston 
Herald  is  of  the  opinion  that  it  "  excels  in  interest  Anthony 
Hope's  best  efforts."  "  Rarely  do  we  find  a  story  in  which 
more  happens,  or  in  which  the  incidents  present  themselves 
with  more  suddenness  and  with  greater  surprise,"  says  the 
New  York  Sun. 

"Mr.  Carling  has  a  surprising  faculty  of  making  it 
appear  that  things  ought  to  have  happened  as  he  says 
they  did,  and  as  long  as  the  book  is  being  read  he  even 
succeeds  in  making  it  appear  that  they  did  happen  so," 

says  the  St.  Louis  Star. 

"  The  Shadow  of  the  Czar  "  fairly  captivated  two  coun 
tries.  In  England  the  Newcastle  Daily  Journal  says  it 
"  transcends  in  interest  '  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.' " 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


A  Stirring  Tale  of  the  Plains 

THE  RAINBOW  CHASERS 

By  JOHN  H.  WHITSON 

Author  of  "Barbara,  A  Woman  of  the  West,"  etc. 
Illustrated.     12mo.     $1.50 

Full  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  "West,  with  a  cowboy, 
land  speculator,  and  lover  for  its  hero,  Mr.  Whitson's  new 
novel,  without  being  in  the  least  a  copy,  has  many  of  the 
attractions  of  Mr.  Wister's  hero,  "The  Virginian." 

"  The  Rainbow  Chasers  "  is  a  virile  American  novel  and 
treats  of  the  elemental  forces  of  Western  life  and  the  re 
sults  of  the  great  fever  of  speculation  in  land.  The  prairies 
and  forests  of  the  West  are  the  scenes  which  the  author 
has  chosen  for  a  novel  which  is  full  of  interest  and  strength. 

The  characters  of  the  story  are  vigorous  men,  men  with 
red  blood  in  their  veins,  men  of  action  who  build  up  new 
communities. 


A  New  Romance  by  the  Author  of  "The  Shadow  of  the  Czar" 

THE  VIKING'S  SKULL 

By  JOHN  R.  CARLING,  author  of  "The  Shadow  of  the  Czar," 

etc.     Illustrated.      12mo.     SL  -50 

Mr.  Carling  has  written  a  spirited  story  of  love  and 
adventure,  with  an  ingeniously  constructed  plot,  which 
tells  how  Idris  Marville,  true  Earl  of  Ormsby,  recovered  a 
treasure  hidden  by  one  of  his  progenitors, —  a  Viking  of 
the  Ninth  Century, —  and  how  he  cleared  the  memory  of 
his  father,  who  had  been  wrongfully  convicted  of  murder. 
There  are  many  powerful  scenes  in  the  book  and  abundant 
love  interest.  The  whole  story  is  exceptionally  strong, 
dramatic,  vivid,  and  interest-compelling. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


The  Story  of  a  Man's  Triumph  over  the  Flesh 

THE    WOOD-CARVER    OF 
'LYMPUS 

By  MARY  E.  WALLER,  author  of  "  A  Daughter  of  the 

Rich,"  etc.  Illustrated.  12mo.  $1.50 
The  hero  of  Miss  Waller's  new  story  is  one  of  the  most 
powerful  and  original  characters  portrayed  in  recent 
fiction.  Hugh  Armstrong,  used  to  a  busy  out-of-door  life, 
in  felling  a  tree  meets  with  an  accident  and  loses  the 
use  of  his  limbs.  At  first  he  finds  it  impossible  to  adjust 
himself  to  his  shut-in  life,  but  a  friend  suggests  wood- 
carving  to  him.  Through  work  and  love  a  great  change 
comes  over  him,  and  the  author  has  portrayed  to  us  in  a 
powerful  manner  Armstrong's  salvation.  The  scenes  are 
laid  in  the  Green  Mountains  of  Vermont. 


A  New  Novel  of  Present-Da^   Virginia  Life 

WHERE 
THE  TIDE  COMES  IN 

By  LUCY  MEACHAM  THRUSTON,  author  of  "  Mistress 
Brent,"   "A   Girl  of   Virginia,"  etc.      Illustrated. 

12rao.     $1.50 

In  her  new  story  Mrs.  Thruston  portrays  a  heroine  as 
charming  as  her  delightful  "  Girl  of  Virginia."  The  scenes 
of  the  novel  are  laid  at  Norfolk  and  Portsmouth,  and  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  Southern  vegetable  farmer,  who  depends 
on  the  irrepressible  negro,  are  strongly  pictured.  The 
novel  is  a  genuine  love-story  with  a  touch  of  politics,  and 
the  Southern  atmosphere  is  delightfully  unhackneyed. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  fcf  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


The  Story  of  an  American   Woman's  Summer  Abroad 

A  WOMAN'S  WILL 

By  ANNE  WARNER.  Illustrated.  12rao.  $1.50 
A  brilliant  and  entertaining  love-story  is  this,  narrated 
almost  wholly  in  dialogue,  the  hero  being  a  German  of 
rank,  and  a  famous  violin  player  and  composer,  and  the 
heroine,  an  American  widow,  whose  marriage  had  been  an 
unhappy  one.  The  charm  of  the  story  is  in  the  skilfully 
drawn  characters,  the  bright  dialogue,  and  the  realistic 
painting  of  the  scenes  in  which  the  events  take  place, 
Munich,  Zurich,  and  Lucerne. 

A   Tale  of  Norway  in  the  Tenth  Century 

THE  NORTH  STAR 

By  M.  E.  HENRY-RUFFIN.  Illustrated.  12mo.  SI. 50 
This  Viking  romance  is  a  tale  of  love  and  adventure 
with  King  Olaf  Tryggveson  for  the  hero.  The  story  opens 
with  a  scene  at  a  fair  in  Ireland,  where  Olaf  meets  a  beau 
tiful  Irish  princess,  and  later  changes  to  Norway,  where 
Olaf  returns  to  be  received  as  King.  Such  history  and 
legend  as  have  come  to  us  of  that  time  furnish  fertile  imag 
ination  a  frame  for  stirring  incident  and  rapid  action. 

By  the  Author  of  "The  God  of  Things" 

THE  EFFENDI 

By  FLORENCE   BROOKS  WHITEHOUSE.     With 

illustrations     12mo.     $1.50 

The  Prologue  of  this  engrossing  romance  of  the  Soudan 
deals  with  the  siege  of  Khartoum  and  the  death  of  the 
hero,  Gordon,  and  the  Epilogue  with  the  retribution  which 
England  exacted  from  the  Arab  hordes.  Between  the  two 
is  placed  a  dramatic  story  of  love  and  adventure. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


University  of  California 

!lAL  "Kw  FACILITY 
,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 
Return  this  material  to  the  library 
from  which  it  was  borrowed    ' 


